One Game to Rule Them All
by Boromerely
Summary: It's the Hunger Games, but this time, the Tributes shall be from Lord of the Rings. The main Tributes will be the Fellowship members except Gandalf but other characters will be mentioned. May the odds be ever in their favour! Cover image done by ichipup; it's of Gimli.
1. Reap What You Sow

_**~One Ring to rule them all,  
><strong>__**One Ring to find them,  
><strong>__**One Ring to bring them all,  
><strong>__**And may the odds be ever in your favour.~**_

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><p><em><strong>This is EXTREMELY AU! Characters will most likely act a little OOC, and they will all be humans. I will try to keep them as close to their book selves, but they will not be exact.<strong>_

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><p>Information of Tributes and Mentors! (The numbers are their ages)<p>

Legolas- District One-18

Aragorn- District Two-18

Frodo- District Four-16

Gimli- District Five -17

Pippin-District Six -13

Merry-District Ten-14

Samwise-District Eleven-15

Boromir-District Twelve-18

Gandalf- Mentor for Four. (Frodo's Mentor)

Galadriel- Mentor for One (Female Mentor) (Not very relevant though)

Glorfindel- Mentor for One (Legolas's Mentor)

Elrond- Mentor for Two (Aragorn's Mentor)

Haldir- Mentor for Seven (though there is really not a Mentor since nobody's from Seven)

Balin- Mentor for Five (Gimli's Mentor)

Théoden- Mentor for Ten {Since he is the Horse Lord, and District Ten is Cattle} (Merry's Mentor)

Paladin- Mentor for Six (Pippin's Mentor) {Not his Father in this story}

Beregond- Mentor for Twelve (Boromir's Mentor)

Gaffer- Mentor for Eleven. (Sam's Mentor) {Not his Father in this story}

Sauron- President

Morgoth- The President before Sauron

Saruman- The Head Game Maker!

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><p>I put them in those Districts based off of their looks, and some of their personal traits. Well, there were only two Fellowship members that were based off of their personal traits; Sam (because he liked to garden since Eleven is Agriculture) and Frodo (Because his parents died in a boat crash) Pippin and Merry were just put into random districts, though I put Pippin in Six because there's a bunch of druggies (Since they are Transportation and Medicine) there, and, as according to Merry, Pippin smokes too much. It was just a little personal laughing thing. Merry's in District Ten because it is Cattle and such, and since he swears allegiance to Théoden, I thought that it would be fitting for him to be in District Ten.<p>

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><p>"May the odds be ever in your favour!" The escort woman, dressed in bright neon green, exclaimed; her eyes, which were a bright yellow, were glinting with excitement. Boromir Stewart sighed to himself, hoping that this year, he would be spared like he had been for the past five years. Being eighteen, this was the last time being in the Reaping draw, and he hoped that he would make it out alive.<p>

His grey eyes searched behind him, over the countless black haired-heads, the occasional blond mixing in with the black. In the thirteen-year-old section, he found his little brother, Faramir, standing, looking around the crowd, a nervous expression on his face. Boromir knew that Faramir was terrified that he would be drawn, and when their eyes met, Boromir gave Faramir a reassuring smile.

"Ladies first!" The bright green escort shouted to the crowd. Boromir's eyes narrowed in dislike, and he averted his eyes; the woman's costume was too bright, and it was starting to hurt his eyes. Boromir drew in his breath as her high heels clacked loudly against the stage as she ran to the microphone. Dramatically pausing, she unfolded the name, and then gave a little smile. "Ioreth Stellar!"

Boromir watched as the crowd parted to reveal a girl, shaking in her shoes, wearing a dress made of burlap. She was much too thin to be healthy, and she was rather short. Her black hair was chopped short at her chin, and her grey eyes flashed around the crowd, hoping that somebody would volunteer for her, but, a Tribute in District Twelve was considered dead as soon as their name was drawn, and nobody uttered anything as she made her way to the stage. When she was on the stage, Boromir noticed that her olive toned skin had paled quite noticeably.

"Congratulations, Ioreth!" The escort said, and Boromir shook his head. There was no joy in being selected as Tribute in the Hunger Games for anybody in District Twelve. Ioreth was still shaking, and Boromir could tell she was taking in deep breaths to comfort herself as she looked out at the crowd to see who was going to be her fellow Tribute. The green woman's smile grew, as she said, "Now, for the boys!"

Apart from the weeping of Ioreth's mother, all of District Twelve was silent. The escort's hand wavered over the names as her hand flitted from name to name, until, eventually she picked one up in her fingers. She pranced over to the stage, and then unfolded the name, pausing yet again to increase the nerves of the people of District Twelve, and to create suspense for the people of the Capitol.

"And the male Tribute from District Twelve is..." She unfolded the name, and gave a little smile, "Boromir Stewart!"

Boromir blinked as his classmates moved away from him like he had the plague. He said nothing as he began to walk towards the stage. Looking back over his shoulder after he heard the sound of a fight, he saw Faramir trying to reach him through the Peace Keepers. Boromir shook his head; telling him to not volunteer for him. Boromir knew that he stood little chance, but he also knew that Faramir had an even smaller chance to make it out of the games alive.

Faramir stopped struggling, and Boromir gave him a small smile. The smile remained on his face as she reached the stage, but it quickly disappeared once he looked out at the crowd of District Twelve. He took in a deep breath as he looked out at his home for most likely the last time. He turned, and shook Ioreth's hand before they were lead into the Justice Building and into separate rooms.

_**Well, **_Boromir thought, _**let the Games begin. **_

Legolas Greenleaf grinned to himself. At eighteen years old, he had been training for this day ever since he could walk on two legs. Though his slight figure was somewhat deceiving to the eye, Legolas was strong, and talented when it came to weapons. His blond hair hung down his back, and he had the front two pieces braided, and then tied behind his head. His green eyes narrowed slightly, as he smoothed out a wrinkle in his green shirt.

He patted down his brown pants, and gently clipped on the leaf pin that had been passed down from his family. It had started with his mother; one of the Victors of District One, and was handed down to his eldest brother when she had died of an illness. Now, it was in Legolas's hands. As the youngest boy of the Greenleaf family, Legolas had a lot to live up to. Though only his older sister and his second eldest brother had made it out of the Hunger Games alive, all of his other siblings had been in the top three remaining Tributes.

Each time they returned, the pin was either handed to the younger sibling, or taken off of the shirt of the cold body before they nailed the wooden box shut and buried them. Legolas gave a sad smile as he remembered taking the pin from his older brother's body, which had been torn to pieces by a mutt. Now, it was his, and Legolas planned to become a Victor in it.

Legolas was determined to win these Games. Though he knew that it may be tough with his fellow Tribute from One, and the other Tributes from Two and Four, who all trained like he had been doing all of his life. He had heard other Tributes on the Hunger Games calling them the Careers; Tributes who thought that the Hunger Games was a job that they had to do. Legolas grinned at this; it wasn't a job, it was upholding family honour and showing which District was the strongest.

Though Two had won last year, Legolas knew that this year, the Games would go to the boy from One. Legolas had planned this ever since he had heard about the man who was to be his Mentor. Glorfindel; the man who had won his Hunger Games in the shortest time recorded, was going to be the Mentor of the male Tribute from One, and Legolas knew that having him as the Mentor would mean that he had an experienced Mentor. There would be no way that he would not win.

But, there was one problem that Legolas still had to face before he became the Victor from One, and that was actually being able to volunteer. Volunteering in One was dangerous almost; boys and girls fighting to be the first on the stage, but Legolas had also planned this out as well. Being eighteen, it meant that he stood at the front of the crowd, and in the easiest place to run to the stage.

Giving himself one last grin, Legolas bounded down the stairs of his home, and opened the door. The sky threatened rain, but Legolas did not care; perhaps the weather would be better in the Capitol. Making his way to where the Reaping was to be held, Legolas then strategically set himself up closer to the stage so he could easily make his way up the stairs.

He looked at the man from the Capitol, dressed in a furry purple coat, with pink eyelashes, and more makeup on than what Legolas had seen on a girl in his District, and waited. The girls always went first, and that was the painful part of the Reaping for him. Countless girls fought and struggled to get to the stage even before the name was announced, and finally, one of them made it.

Her blonde hair had been in a ponytail, but it had been pulled out by the many girls fighting to get to the stage. She beamed a smug smile, showing off her straight teeth, her green eyes flashing with pride. She strutted over to the microphone, and then announced her name to the grumbling girls and the crowd. "I am Sparkle Sprinkle!"

Legolas studied her, and after he deemed her not to be much of a threat, he positioned himself to get to the stage. His escort had not even the time to finish stating the name when Legolas dashed to the stage with a short, "I volunteer!"

Being quick, Legolas made it to the stage before half of the other boys wanting to volunteer even flinched, and he stood, looking over the crowd, a small smile resting upon his lips. So, he had done it. He had made it to the Hunger Games. Without being asked, Legolas walked over to the microphone, and announced, "I am Legolas Greenleaf."

Their escort seemed to be amused at this, and said, "Another Greenleaf, eh? In the past six years, a Greenleaf has always been in the games! You'll be the seventh!"

Legolas nodded in acknowledgement to the escort, as he then shook hands with Sparkle. As they were being led into the Justice Building, Legolas let his hair fall over the side of his face, and gave Sparkle a rather menacing smile. In return, she gave him one back, but Legolas could not help but notice the fear that had struck into her eyes as he did this. Smirking, Legolas knew that these Games were to be his.

Peregrin Took, preferably called Pippin, was carelessly munching away at his apple as he mulled about in the thirteen-year-old section for the Reaping. Having three older sisters, Pippin was quite used to his parents doting on them instead of him. Frankly, the only things he really cared about at this moment were his apple, and the Reapings at hand. He hoped he wouldn't be drawn, for it would probably mean that he was going to die at thirteen years old. That was something he would have rather avoided, since he knew that dead people couldn't eat anything.

He looked around the crowd for his older sister, who was standing in the sixteen-year-old section, chatting nervously with some of her friends. His other two sisters had already made it through the Reapings without being drawn, and Pippin hoped that he would have the same luck as them. But, Pippin was never really a lucky fellow, so he couldn't really rely on luck to keep him out of the Games.

The woman from the Capitol, who was to be the Tributes' escort, was dressed like she was some sort of exotic bird. Though Pippin didn't really pay attention in school, he recognized some of the feathers from a book that he had read as a little kid. It bothered him for quite some time, in fact throughout her whole speech, until Pippin remembered what bird it was; a peacock. This woman had short peacock feathers sticking out from her eyelashes, and Pippin was very distracted by them as she continued to talk on about the glory of being in the Hunger Games.

Pippin had to admit, the woman looked like the feathers showering her body were ruffled when she realized that nobody as listening to her speech, and she gave a little frown. But, she demanded attention when she said "As always, ladies first!" and stalked over to the glass globe of names and jabbed her hand into it. She swirled her hand around dramatically, like they always did, and Pippin watched as she finally snatched a name up in her hands.

Walking over to the microphone, she unfolded the name, and then announced, "Diamond Longcleeve!"

Pippin's heart sunk a little when he realized that the girl that was drawn was his class, and he had been friends with her for the longest time. He watched as Diamond slowly moved her feet, trying to tell herself to move, though she barely could. Her face had paled, and Pippin could see that she was sniffling; trying to fight back tears. Pippin knew that if he could see it, then all of Panem would be able to see that Diamond was crying.

He felt bad for Diamond, as most of the crowd probably did, but he soon learned that he would not be able to feel bad for Diamond much longer. The peacock lady (who Pippin decided that he disliked greatly) then walked over to the boy's globe, and stuck her hand into the names. It seemed to take an eternity before she pulled out the name, and slowly spoke it out to the world. "Peregrin Took!"

Pippin's apple dropped from his hand, but he said or felt nothing as he made his way up to the stage. Vaguely, he heard his mother screaming, as well as his older sisters, but he made no sign that he knew who they were. He stared out at District Six, and then sighed to himself. _**So, **_he thought as he shook hands with Diamond, _**I'm going to die this year... really soon. **_He gave Diamond a little nod as his thoughts continued, _**At least the food in the Capitol will be good.**_

But, even with that thought, Pippin couldn't bring himself to smile or look forward to what was to come.

The Reaping in District Ten was often held in the late afternoon, like it was to be this year. As the District that raised cattle for Panem, this was something that the people of the District appreciated, and what they needed. Though every member of the District wore a secret hate for the Capitol and its people over their heart, they had to spend a little of their gratefulness for this. But to speak true, it was spent rather grudgingly.

Meriadoc Brandybuck, however, did not like the fact that the Reapings were rather late in the afternoon. He sighed to himself as he finally finished milking the cows that were assigned to him. If the Reapings had been earlier, than Merry perhaps wouldn't be doing this. But, he thought to himself; that would mean that he would be a Tribute in this year's Hunger Games, and that was something that he would rather not do.

He hauled all of the buckets of milk to the machine, where the amount of milk he had gotten today was weighed. Merry watched as the numbers popped on the screen with each bucket that he added. When he had no more buckets to put on the scale, Merry pressed the button telling the machine he had no more, and the buckets were then taken into the machine. In return, it spat out some coins, and Merry pocketed them before returning to his home.

The streets of District Ten had the faint smell of the manure from the animals in which they held there, but since he grew up in the District, Merry didn't notice it at all. The dirt path was crowded with workers who finished their work like Merry had, and were not returning to their homes to get dressed up for the Reaping. Merry didn't pay any attention to anybody as he reached his crowded home.

Taking to his section of the house, he changed out of his work pants, which had multiple patches on them from all of the rips, and there were milk and dirt stains that would never come out of them. Merry reached into his drawer, and dressed in the pants he only got to where on special occasions. Why the Reaping was considered a special occasion, Merry did not know, but all he knew was that he was going to be shown to all of Panem (maybe not, but perhaps). Therefore, Merry would wash and dress up for the cameras, even though he hardly did that any other time.

He finished washing and dressing; he combed his hand through his wet curls, and then shook his head gently. Water droplets hit the floor, and Merry took in a deep breath before he began to walk to the fourteen-year-old section. He saw his friends standing near him, and he made light chatter with them, before he looked up at the strange man from the Capitol.

He was dressed in purple, but he had orange skin, and his hair was purple as well. To accent the purple and orange, the man was wearing purple lipstick. Merry had to say he had never seen that much makeup on a face; a girl or a boy's. He gave a wide smile to the crowd, and then walked over to the glass ball, and pulled out a name. Merry drew in his breath before the name was read.

"And now, the lady Tribute of District Ten..." He unfolded the paper, and read aloud, "Estella Bolger!"

Merry let out his breath, and then searched the crowd for Estella. If she was shocked, or unhappy about it, she did a good job at hiding it, for when Merry found her amidst the people of Ten her face was set in a small frown. She didn't seem to care about it, really, as she walked up to the stage.

Merry knew Estella from school; they were both in the same grade. But Merry wasn't friends with Estella because she absolutely hated him. He didn't know why, but she did hate him and she showed it often. Merry didn't really like Estella much either, but he couldn't say that he was happy to see her go off to the Games.

He watched as Estella looked out at the crowd of people and Merry could see now that she looked like a lost kitten as she did so. But, Estella was then distracted as the purple and orange man who was to be her escort flitted over to the other section of names, and reached in it. He seemed to take joy in swirling the names around until he finally pulled one up out of it.

Walking towards the microphone, he then shouted the name he had received. "Meriadoc Brandybuck!"

Merry's eyes widened, but he managed to keep his feelings in control as he forced himself to walk to the stage. Merry looked at Estella, and then knew that if he had a chance in the Hunger Games before it had been destroyed by Estella now. There was no way that she would let him live; she hated him so much. When they reached over to shake hands, Estella gripped his hand tightly, and whispered, "May the odds be ever in your favour, Meriadoc," in a cold tone.

Merry groaned internally as he was led into the Justice Building. He wouldn't be surprised if his death was counted on his fellow Tribute's kill score.

Gimli woke to the sound of his father screaming for him to get ready. Grumbling, he got out of his bed, and ran a hand through his auburn hair. Cursing the fact that the Reapings were first thing in the morning in District Five, Gimli got out of his bed. He walked over to the water that had been lain out for him, and splashed it in his face. It was cold, and he shivered as he began to wash his face with the bar of soap that had been left there as well.

After he was finished, he dressed in the clothes that were left for him, and then walked out from under the curtain separating his part of the house from the other, and into their kitchen-like area. The streets were already jammed pack full of people, and Gimli was not very excited to go out to the Reaping. Not only would he have to stand there and listen to the annoying Capitol woman talk in her annoying accent, he had to watch as his friends were picked in the draw and murdered in Hunger Games.

Gimli growled to himself when he remembered what the whole purpose of the Games. They were for the Capitol people's amusement. But he knew that they had the excuse for the Hunger Games; to tell the people who rebelled that they could not fight the Capitol, and to tell them that they were helpless as their children were taken and slaughtered. Gimli knew not how the Games could be amusing to anybody; he usually felt sick after he watched the Tributes kill each other; especially when they were the people he knew from Five.

What bothered Gimli the most about the Games was the fact that his cousin was a Victor from them. Gimli was only seven when he watched his cousin (who was ten years older than he was) kill the last Tribute to become the Victor for Five. That had been ten years ago, but Gimli had not been able to ever get that image of his cousin out of his mind. Though his cousin, Balin, seemed to be haunted by his Games, Gimli thought that Balin could snap at any moment and go into relapse; thinking that he was in the Games and he would start to kill everybody he saw.

Though Balin was his cousin, Gimli hardly visited him, and hardly saw him, except at the Reapings. Other than that, Balin usually stayed in his house in the Victor's Village section of District Five. Gimli didn't mind though, he was busy with other things in life, and he couldn't care less about his Victor cousin at times.

Gimli grabbed some food from the kitchen, and ate it as he left the house. On the busy street, Gimli could see the Capitol people with their cameras, chatting to one another as they relayed the footage of the people of District Five walking like cattle towards the large stage that was set up only for the Reaping. Gimli frowned as a camera man carried his camera quite near his face, but he said nothing. Only after the man had gone away, Gimli muttered a curse to him under his breath.

Finally, he had made it to where all of the seventeen-year-olds were standing, and he stood among them. Nobody spoke, whether it was their nerves, or the fact that all of them were much too tired to really comprehend what was going on. Though Gimli could have easily started up a conversation with his peers, he wasn't one to talk about things, nor did he want to at this moment. Gimli just wanted to get the Reaping over with as soon as possible.

The escort, who was a woman wearing a long, ankle-length red dress, had her hair piled up on her head. It was a flaming mixture of reds, oranges and yellow, and Gimli assumed that she was trying to look like fire. Little did the woman realize, Gimli would have gladly lit her hair on fire to make it seem more realistic. Her lips were a bronze colour, accenting her golden eyes, and her fingernails were painted red to match her dress.

She spoke to them in a rather condescending tone, and Gimli's short temper wasn't one to take this. He gritted his teeth, and balled his hands into fist as he watched her finish her little speech. She walked over to the names, and drew one of the names rather quickly for an escort. Usually they spent a long time just waving their hands over the names to make it more appealing for the Capitol audience. It seemed as though the escort just wanted to get out of the District as soon as possible.

She read aloud to the entire District, "Freya Advent!"

Gimli hadn't any idea who Freya was, but he saw as a little twelve-year-old girl walked in quivering feet towards the stage. Gimli hung his head, like he always did whenever he found that a twelve-year-old was going into the Games. It didn't matter what District they were from, Gimli always thought that it was unfair for a twelve-year-old to be forced to fight to the death, and, as they did almost all of the time, die at such a young age.

After Freya made it to the stage, the escort walked over to the boys' names, and snatched one up with her long nails. Gimli looked at her as she made her time to unfold the paper, and then, smiling with her unnaturally bright teeth, she said, "Gimli Oxford!"

Gimli felt mildly amused that he was chosen, and walked towards the stage. At seventeen, he easily towered over little Freya, but he gave her a warm smile as they shook hands. Freya was still shaking as they both were led into the Justice Building where they waited their last goodbyes.

Though Frodo had grown up in District Four, he never did like the ocean, or anything that had to deal with the ocean. It might have been the fact that his parents had died in a boat accident, or just the fact that he preferred to quietly read instead of anything else. Frodo desperately wanted to get away from the ocean, and he knew that his escape was to come soon.

This year, Frodo was going to volunteer for the Hunger Games. He had been training all of his life for it, and he was ready to go into the Games now. He didn't want to wait another two years to be able to volunteer; at sixteen, Frodo was as ready as he would ever be for the Games. He knew that he might find difficultly getting into the Games with all of the other volunteers from Four, but Frodo was fully ready to fight through the crowd of boys to get his place in the Hunger Games.

He gently twisted the ring that his Uncle had given him for his thirteenth birthday and flipped a page of his book. Frodo knew that he would not be able to win these games with his strength; he would have to use his smarts to be the Victor of the Hunger Games. But this did not bother Frodo at all; he knew that it took more than brute strength to win the Games. He had seen it with the clever Tributes deceive their alliances and go on to win.

It was these Tributes that taught Frodo that he was not to ally with the rest of what the other Districts called the Careers. As a slight boy, Frodo could easily be stabbed in the back by them; literally. So, he figured that he would find somebody from the lesser Districts, and get them to be on his side. He would have strength in the numbers that would keep him alive until the end. When he reached the end, Frodo would kill his ally and become the Victor. It was such a simple plan, but Frodo knew that it would be effective.

He heard the bell toll, telling him that he needed to get to the Reaping, and he closed his book shut. Standing up on the grass, Frodo then mixed in the crowd, and walked to the sixteen-year-old section. He stood relatively close to the front of the pack, and near the aisle that split the girls and the boys. It was here that he would be able to get through the many boys that would fight to get to the stage.

Being smaller than most of the boys, Frodo knew that he could easily slip up to the stage, and say his name. He smiled to himself as he looked at the man that was their escort. He was dressed in a blue suit that had silver fishes swimming up on the blue fabric. Whenever the man moved, it seemed like the fish would move as well. His silver lips shone in the sunlight, and his silver eyes were rather strange. His blue hair was a shade lighter than the suit, and it was ruffled by the wind.

Frodo wondered how it was considered attractive in the Capitol, but he did not question it. He had to admit, it did look rather nice if he looked at the man long enough. But, Frodo had not the time to watch the walking piece of artwork, and instead, he was focusing on what the man was saying. Finally, the speech was over, and the man walked over to draw the girl's name.

He had not even unfolded the name when the shrieks of "I VOLUNTEER!" echoed around the District. Frodo watched, slightly amused, as the girls fought to get to the stage. One girl was about to make it up the stairs to the stage, when another grabbed the girl by the ponytail and pulled her down to the ground. The aggressive girl made her way up the stage, and said, in a voice that was rather proud, "I am Lobelia Sackville-Baggins."

Frodo vaguely recognized her as one of his distant cousins, but he did not care for that at the moment; he needed to get to the stage before any other boy. As the escort made his way to the boys names, Frodo began to inch his way into the aisle, and then as the man made it to the microphone, he booked it down and reached the stages. He scampered up them with a shout of "I volunteer!"

He was on the stage and grinning down at the rest of the boys, who were all clumped around the stairs. All of them glared back at Frodo, but they said nothing more as they grumbled and walked back to where they were supposed to stand. Frodo gave the crowd a smile, his blue eyes sparkling, as he then said his name to the crowd. "I am Frodo Baggins."

"Oh!" The escort exclaimed, looking at Frodo, "Are you two related?"

"She's my cousin," Frodo said, still smiling. Lobelia gave Frodo a glare, but they shook hands nonetheless and then walked into the Justice Building, both of them knowing that only one of them was to get out of it, and both of them thinking that they would be the Victor.

Samwise Gamgee, called Sam by most, was a gentle fellow, who felt extremely out of place in District Eleven. He was one of the few children whose grandparents were Peacekeepers, and he stood out in District Eleven greatly. Most of District Eleven's people were dark skinned, since the Districts had been organized by how the people looked. Sam, however, was not. But, apart from his looks, he fit in along nicely with his fellow peers, and enjoyed the work that he was to do.

Sam had been in his garden on the morning of the Reaping, dressed in the clothes that he was to be standing at the Reaping in. He watered his plants, and then began to tend to them until the bell of the Reaping brought him out of his trance. Sam put down his gardening gloves, brushed the dirt off of his pants, and put away his watering can in the small shed that his family owned.

After he was finished, he walked into his house, and washed his hands in water that was already dirtied by his siblings doing the same. Drying his hands on his pants, Sam then ran a hand through his curly blonde hair, and sighed. He took one last look around his house, taking it in for what might have been his last time, before he turned and lifted the burlap curtain flap that was their door.

Stepping out into the streets, Sam looked at all of the people of District Eleven, watching as they all milled about. He looked at the countless children; wondering who would be the victims of the Capitol this year. Sam hated the Hunger Games, as most people living in the Districts most likely did. He didn't like to watch them, and hated the fact that they were forced to watch them when they were on. Sam also hated the Victor Tour, where the Careers would beam at them with looks of pity in their eyes as they stared at the poorer folk of District Eleven.

But, Sam couldn't do anything about the Games, and he was forced to go to the Reaping, like he had been all of his life. Though, for the past three years, it had been something much more than watching something he didn't like. He had been added in the draw, and he had to take tesserae, meaning his name was added much more than it should have been. Sam knew that if he was to be in the Games, it would mean that he would be killed immediately.

Sam looked stood in the fifteen-year-old section, looking around at the people of the District, taking in all of their grim faces. He knew that he was wearing one very much like it, and he could not get the nervous feeling that had been turning in the pit of his stomach out. He knew that the chance that he was to be picked was rather low, judging by the size of the District and the amount of people in it, but the fact that Sam had a chance to be drawn made him sick to the stomach.

He looked up at the stage, where a woman with a bright pink, furry dress on, stood, chatting to the whole District about the important of the Games. Sam looked at the giant pink cat ears that rested on her head, and how her pupils were just mere slits, and shook his head. With her elongated, fluorescent eyelashes, Sam thought that she looked like somebody who decided to take a bath in pink glue and then stuck fur on themselves.

She finally finished her non-stop gabber, and walked over (it was now when Sam saw her furry boots and he groaned a little to himself) to the girls' names. She had a wild, almost feline grin on her face as she plunged her hands into the globe, and swirled around. Sam looked at the things that would have otherwise been called nails on her hand as she took out the name and walked over to the microphone. Using her claws, she unfolded the name, and exclaimed, "And the girl Tribute from District Eleven is... Rosie Cotton! Come up dear, don't be afraid!"

Sam thought that Rosie had all rights to be afraid to walk up on the stage with that crazy feline woman as her escort. He found Rosie amidst the crowd, for it was very easy to see her since everybody moved away from her like she had the plague. She was dark skinned, with long, straight black hair that was tied up in a high ponytail. Her amber eyes flitted about as she looked at the crowd. Sam could not mistake the panic in her eyes for anything else as they momentarily rested on his.

Rosie seemed rather uncomfortable standing beside the cat woman, and looked almost relieved when the escort walked over to the boys' names and then speared one with her claws. The feline grin remained on her face as she walked over to the microphone, and announced, "Samwise Gamgee! Please come up, now, you are the Tribute for Eleven this year!"

Sam gulped, and then made his way to the stage. He felt rather out of place as the people moved away from him. Some of them jumped back when he walked close to them; like they could catch being a Tribute like it was the common cold. Sam was taking deep breaths to calm down as he then stood beside Rosie. From the corner of his eyes, he saw Rosie looking at him almost curiously, before she then realized he had noticed her and looked away.

"District Eleven, these are your two Tributes this year, Rosie Cotton, and Samwise Gamgee!" The cat escort exclaimed. She then motioned for Rosie and Sam to shake hands, which they did, before she ushered them away into the Justice Building. Sam groaned to himself as he sat in the room. If being in the Hunger Games was bad, having that woman as an escort had to be worse.

Aragorn Elessar thrust his sword into the cotton-filled sack, and then twisted it. When he pulled back, a large chunk of cotton fell on the floor below him, and he gave a satisfied smile. His father had been a Victor from the Games, and Aragorn planned to be one as well. If his father hadn't been killed in an accident involving Capitol cars, Aragorn would have been encouraged to go into the Games by him. His mother, Gilrean, had also died in the crash, so Aragorn had been raised at an orphanage.

The man he admired the most was also a Victor, but it was not his father. Elrond, the Victor who had won the Hunger Games twenty years ago, was the man that he admired the most. Whenever Elrond came to visit the orphanage, Aragorn would always be the first to see him, and he would always get to talk to him. Aragorn knew that Elrond had acknowledged him when the Victor asked Aragorn if he would like to be trained by him for the Games. Nothing had, or ever would, please Aragorn more than those words did.

But now, Aragorn had other goals to complete. He was to win the Hunger Games this year, and be a Victor like Elrond had been. At eighteen, Aragorn had more experience than he would ever get, and he had been ready for the Games ever since he was twelve. He was sure that he was to win these Games, and there was nothing that was going to stop him from winning. He needed nobody, and would not make a single ally during the Games. He would win it alone.

Aragorn wiped the sweat from his brow as he then set his sword down at Elrond's nod of approval. Aragorn grinned, taking in deep breaths to get his heart rate back to normal, before he walked to the change room. He changed into this Reaping clothes; a blue button-down shirt, and a pair of black slacks. After tying up his black shoes, he walked out into the streets of District Two, watching as all of the children of Two walk to where the Reaping was to be held.

Aragorn stood amidst the crowd, and watched as the rest of them stood near the stairs. Aragorn rolled his eyes; any person who relied on their speed to be in the Hunger Games was as good as dead to Aragorn. No, Aragorn was going to push his way through the crowds to get to the stage and be in the Games.

He watched as the Capitol woman stalked up to the stairs, her green hair swaying as she waved her hips with each step. To Aragorn, she looked like she was twitching with seizures as she did so. Her green dress showed too much cleavage to be considered something even decent, and it was cut too short on her thigh. Her heals made her at least fifteen centimetres taller than she originally was. She wore heavy eyeliner, and bright green eye shadow. Her lips were bright red, and she smiled a rather fake smile to the crowd.

Aragorn glared at her as she took much too long to say her speech; at least on Aragorn's perspective. Finally, she started, as usual, with the girls. Aragorn watched as the escort slowly took the name out of the globe, and before she could even say it, he watched as a girl, with dark hair and bright, silvery eyes, ran up to the stage with a "I volunteer!"

Aragorn knew who she was immediately. She was Elrond's daughter, Arwen, and he didn't even listen as she said her name to the crowd. Aragorn felt uneasy about being in the Games with her, but he couldn't just abandon his chance to go into the Games. He had to be in these Games. He looked at Arwen, and then waited until the escort made her way back to the microphone before he rushed to the stage.

"I volunteer!" He shouted at the top of his lungs as he then grabbed a boy, and threw him backwards to get to the stage. Finally, he got to the stage, and then walked over to the microphone, with a grin on his face. "I am Aragorn Elessar."

"Oh! The children of Two Victors!" The escort exclaimed, smiling a devilish smile as she did so. Aragorn and Arwen both shook hands, rather viciously before they walked to the Justice Building and waited for their visitors to arrive.

* * *

><p><strong>I'm sorry if it was rather repetitive. The Train Ride and the Chariot Ride will be next chapter. Thanks for reading, and please review for any constructive criticism... it would be greatly appreciated. <strong>


	2. Goodbye District, Hello Train

_**~One Ring to rule them all,  
><strong>__**One Ring to bind them,  
><strong>__**One Ring to bring them all,  
><strong>__**And may the odds be ever in your favour.~**_

* * *

><p>The first and only person to pay Frodo a visit was his uncle, Bilbo. The man talked to Frodo briefly about the Games, and during that time, Bilbo asked this one question. "Why Frodo? Why did you volunteer for the Games?"<p>

At this, Frodo sighed, and twisted the ring on his finger again. His uncle clearly didn't understand what Frodo wanted. But, Frodo thought to himself, his uncle never volunteered for the Games, and if he had tried, he never made it into the Games. Now, Bilbo was just some old fisher who liked to talk about the adventures he had when he was a young boy with his friend, Gandalf, who happened to be Frodo's Mentor for these Games. Frodo knew that Bilbo would rather that Frodo stayed home, but Frodo was not one to stay.

He had dreams of another place. He wanted to go to the Capitol, and he wanted to make his name there. He had no plans to be one of the fallen in these Games. Frodo was to be the Victor, and then he would be able to do what he wished. He could visit the Capitol whenever he wanted to by just purchasing a train ticket. The people would know him for being the Victor, and Frodo would get to see the other Districts on his Victor Tour. Now these were more of an idea of adventure to Frodo than anything his uncle had told him as a boy.

"Uncle, I wish to go into the Games so I can be the Victor. I want to be known, I want to have an adventure!" Frodo told his uncle, and Bilbo gave a small sigh. He looked at Frodo for a moment, before he looked down at the ring on Frodo's fingers. The old man clasped Frodo's hand in his own, and for a moment, Frodo almost regretted going into the Games. The factor of doubt flashed across his mind for a second; what if he didn't win? What if he left Bilbo all alone? Frodo shook these thoughts from his head as his uncle set his hand down.

"Frodo, my boy, promise me one thing," Bilbo said finally, and Frodo gave a little nod. His blue eyes met his uncle's, as Bilbo continued, "Promise that you will keep that ring on your finger no matter what. Just... remember me when you see it..."

Frodo smiled at his uncle, and then replied with, "I promise, of course."

Bilbo was taken from the room in the next minute, leaving Frodo sitting by himself until the Peacekeepers came into the room and brought him to the train. Frodo saw Lobelia being brought in as well. Both of them cast each other a glare as they walked up the steps of the train, and then turned to their separate rooms.

As soon as Frodo got to his room, he turned on the small television that was in it to see who his fellow competitors would be. He scoffed at most of the Tributes, knowing that he would be able to easily bring them down, even if he was younger, and mostly, smaller than them. There were two, however, he would have to worry about; the Tributes from One and Two. They both looked strong, and both of them had Victor blood in them. Frodo shook his head; there was no way that just being related to a Victor would make a person one as well.

The small feeling of doubt pressed itself against Frodo again, but this time, Frodo shook it out immediately before he turned and went to the shower in his room. He could think of strategies better when he wasn't watching his fellow Tributes on the television screen.

Gimli groaned to himself as he looked out the barred window of the Justice Building. He did recall his father telling him once that a tribute had jumped out of the window, and that the Peacekeepers had to stun them to get the Tribute on the train. Needless to say, the Game Makers killed the Tribute with a 'natural' cause. Gimli wondered what it was; but since he took no joy in rewatching Hunger Games of the past. His father had only been a young boy at the time, so he did not remember what had happened to said Tribute.

Now, Gimli was a Tribute, and he was most likely going to die in the Games. He sighed; at least he wasn't Freya, the twelve-year-old girl that had also been drawn as Tribute from District Five. She stood no chance what so ever, while Gimli had a sliver of hope in his pocket. To say that he had a one in twenty-four chance of winning was something that Gimli could not admit. Clearly, the Careers had a much higher chance of winning; being able to purchase training before the Games, and being rather skilled with weapons.

Gimli had one advantage over these Careers, and that the ability to survive without much food. These Careers had been raised on three decent meals a day, while sometimes Gimli went a whole day without food. He also knew plants that were edible, and plants that could kill. With these under his belt, Gimli could be the Victor of these Games. But, his lack of combat skills made him an underdog. He had to admit, that this would most likely be the last day he would ever spend in District Five.

Gimli was then distracted by his father walking into the room. The man's face was covered by a bushy auburn beard that had begun to turn white with age. His amber eyes were something that Gimli and he shared, as well as their squared jaw, and small forehead. There was something different about him compared to Gimli though, and that was the look of grief that had taken over all of his expressions.

Though Gimli had tried to not think about it; he knew that this would be the last time he would ever see his father. There was no way that he would be able to win these Games. He was from Five, whereas all of the Careers from One, Two and Four were strong enough to kill him with their bare hands. He really had no hope in these Games. The only thing he could really do was provide a good show for the Capitol.

"Gimli..." His father started as Gimli made his resolve. He would not win, but he would make it so that he would be one of the most memorable Tributes of this Hunger Games. Gimli looked up at his father, and then gave him a forced smile. Gloin choked up a little, but then said, "Try your best..."

"Dad... I'm not going to come back... I'm sorry, but I'll try to stay alive as long as I can.. but I'm not going to win," Gimli told him, and then Gloin gave a little nod. They gave each other a long hug, and held it until the Peacekeepers came to bring Gloin away. "Goodbye Dad..."

Gimli now felt his own tears budding in his eyes as his Dad, who was looking over his shoulder at him, was dragged away from him by the Peacekeepers. Gimli would never see him again; he knew that much. He wanted to be able to run away from this place, and away from the Games, but there was no way that he would be able to do so. The Peacekeepers were trained for these exact actions, and Gimli would never make it far. If he did attempt to do so, the Game Makers would kill him in the Games after a couple of days. They would never want to have to deal with a trouble maker.

From outside the hall, Gimli could hear Freya's mother screaming for her daughter, and from where the door was still open, he watched as the Peacekeepers dragged the woman away from her daughter, as well as the rest of the Tribute from Five's family. Gimli saw that Freya had three siblings, two brothers and a sister, one of the boys looking older than her, while the others were younger. Tears were streaming down all of their faces, including the man who Gimli assumed was Freya's father.

His door was then shut with a loud clack; and Gimli then knew that he no longer had any visitors. He sat in silence for a while, thinking of all the things he was going to lose apart from his life, and what Freya's family was going to lose with the little girl gone. At this, though Gimli had already decided to try to make his name in these Games, he decided that he was going to look out for Freya in these Games.

He didn't have to wait long, for the Peacekeepers then brought him to the train, as well as Freya. The little girl was sniffling as she walked to the train, and she kept her head down; her hair covering her face as she did so. There was no way that the cameras would be able to get to her face through the red locks. As they reached the train, Gimli gave her a reassuring smile, and said, "I'll look out for you, Freya, don't worry."

At this, Freya gave him a little nod, before they were both separated from each other into their rooms on the train.

Sam had a lot of visits from both his family and friends, and he could not decide which one was more heart wrenching until he got his very last visit from his mother and his father. Both of whom were sniffling, and he looked at his father for a moment, and gave him a smile. One of his father's many cousins, a man named Hamfast, though called Gaffer by most, was going to be Sam's Mentor.

Sam knew a lot about Gaffer, though he had never spent much time with him. His father often spoke of him with an air of respect, and it had transferred to Sam. His second uncle Gaffer was a Victor, meaning he had been through the Hunger Games and got out of it alive. That was something that everybody had to respect; even those who had lost their loved ones to the Games. It took strength, will, courage and luck to get it through the Games, but even though Gaffer possessed all of those, he was still mentally scarred from his Games.

But Sam knew that surviving the Games meant that he would have to kill people, though he did not want to do so. If he wanted even a chance to return to his home, he would have to kill people. That was something that Sam thought he would never have to do; killing a human being was something that would be nearly impossible for him. But, he was to do so in the course of the week. Sam shook his head, and sighed to himself as he listened to his mother and father.

"Sam- please... t-try to come home-" His mother was saying, and Sam looked at her. Tears were in her dark brown eyes, as his father held her closer to his body. Sam looked at his father, looking at the tears that were budding in the corners of his dark eyes. Sam knew he was trying to hold it back- trying to keep himself from crying. Sam respected his father for that, because if his father was to cry, Sam knew that he was going to start to cry as well. Sam could not afford to cry. It would make him seem weak, and thus, a target of the Careers.

"I will try," Sam reassured her, holding her hand as he did so. The fifteen-year-old Tribute gave his mother a soft smile, as she then could not control the sorrow that was consuming her. She burst into tears, and then wrapped her arms around her son, cradling him to her chest. Her sobs did not stop, even as Sam's father tried to convince her to stop. Sam gripped his mother back; embracing what most likely would be the last hug he ever received from his mother. His father soon joined the embrace, before the Peacekeepers came in, and had to yank his mother off of him.

"SAM! SAM!" She screamed as she was being dragged away. Though Sam was not certain, he had a feeling that as soon as they dragged her out of the Justice Building, she would have fallen to her knees, and would have started to cry. Though Sam had many siblings, he knew that his mother loved them all evenly, and losing even one of them would tear her to pieces. Sam felt guilty; though it was not his fault that he had been Reaped, he was leaving his mother, and would most likely not be coming back.

Sam waited until the Peacekeepers came and retrieved him, bringing him to a silver train, and then leaving him on it. He looked back at District Eleven for what could have been his last time, before the door was shut, and he was taken away, along with Rosie, and his Mentor. Rosie held her head high, though she looked as though she had cried a bit with her parents. She tried to remain strong as Sam did, and they cast each other a glance- both of them shooting pity at each other, and secretly wishing each other good luck.

Sam knew that they were going to need it to get out of these Games alive.

Pippin had to admit it; the Justice Building of Six had style. He spent the majority of his visits, mainly the ones from his school friends, running his hand through the soft fur blanket that was draped over the velvet couch. When his parents came to talk to him, however, Pippin resisted the urge to touch the furry blanket, and listened to the words that Pippin knew were to be the last ones that he would ever hear from them. There was no way that he would be able to go into the Hunger Games and make it out alive. He was thirteen, and barely even one hundred and fifty centimetres off of the ground.

There were the Careers that he could not even compare to. Monsters Pippin had thought they were when he watched them on the screen as a little boy, they were absolutely monsters. Most of them were about two metres tall, but the ones that were small were quick, and all of them had rather large muscles. He had seen one of the Careers in the previous years (who went on to be the Victor) snap one of the Tribute's arms with her hand.

Then there was Pippin; clearly under fed, with a slight figure, and not very light on his toes. Pippin groaned to himself, and wondered if the outfit he was to wear in the arena had a target on it; that would make him a much easier target for the Careers. That's really all Pippin was. Somebody the Careers laugh about killing on the fourth, third, or maybe even first day. Pippin knew he wasn't going to make it far. He knew that he'd be Career jerky by the first week.

But his parents didn't seem to understand that. There was his mother, who was telling him that if he didn't come back his sisters would be rather upset, and his father, who was going over strategies for him to get out of the Games alive. Two of his sisters were trying to throw advice out as well, whilst the one that was the closest to him age wise was just sitting there, looking at him with sad eyes.

Pippin had to avert his eyes from hers; otherwise he would start to let the hopelessness that was resting in his heart show through his carefully crafted mask. Instead, Pippin looked down at the velvet couch, and ran his hands through it again. It was the only thing he could do to calm himself for what was to come. His parents seemed to think that Pippin was actually listening to them as they jabbered on like annoying birds in the morning. His eldest sisters and his parents were then told to leave, while his younger and closest sister lingered for a couple moments.

"Pippin... I'm sorry... if I could, I would try to be in your place, but I can't. You don't deserve this... nobody does..." she said, before she reached over and gave him a hug. She handed him a small necklace, with a little wooden sword hanging off of it. "Please... keep this with you for the Games. I... I love you Pip... if you can, try to come home..."

"I'm not going to, Pimpernel, you know I won't..." Pippin told her, and then his sister gave him a little kiss on the forehead.

"I didn't say you had to, so don't feel like you failed me if you don't. I'm just saying try. Don't be stupid, and I know that's hard for you," Pimpernel replied, and then Pippin gave her a little smile. "Just try and I will be proud of you no matter what."

"I'll try, and thanks," Pippin gripped the necklace tighter in his hand as his sister gave him one last hug, before she was ushered out of the room by the Peacekeeper. Pippin then found that he was more distracted by the necklace than the velvet couch, or the fur blanket. Pimpernel had bought this when she was a young girl, saving up all of the money she earned from the tips she would get as she sold homemade medicines. He knew how important it was to her, and Pippin respected her greatly for giving him the trinket.

Pippin waited until he had to go out of the lavish room and onto an even better furnished train. When he was escorted to the train, he saw Pimpernel in the crowd around it, and he gave her a little smile. Across from him, was his fellow Tribute; Diamond Longcleeve. She had red puffy eyes, and was sniffling she was forced onto the train. Pippin knew that if anybody saw her, she would be considered weak, and not worthy to survive very long in the Games. It would not be a good way to get any sponsors acting like that.

Pippin thought about sponsors, and then wondered how he would get any. He was just a thirteen-year-old, not very attractive in the minds of most girls (and thus, the Capitol) and since District Six was transportation, he would most likely be dressed like a school bus on the Chariots. He would have to rely on his Training Score, and the interview to get any sponsors. He hoped he would get some; otherwise he was probably deader than anybody else walking into the Games.

At this, Pippin had not the time to care about Diamond's tears, for he had his own problems to confide with.

Meriadoc Brandybuck only had his family visit him. Though, he wasn't one with very many friends, he expected that at least one of them would pay him a visit. Unfortunately for Merry, not a single one did, and he was left to wonder if his only real friends had been the cows that he had milked this morning. Well, the cows were good listeners, and they never did complain about much apart from not being milked and for wanting to have some food. But, cows were probably not allowed to be visitors, and Merry would be stuck with just his family.

His mother and father both cried; and Merry ended up being the one to comfort them the entire time instead of being comforted by them. For some reason, this kept his distracted from all of the things that he was going to have to be going through in the next couple of days. All of the silly getups he would be forced to attend, and then the Games. But he could not forget the Games, as he was to be a part of them sometime soon.

He wondered how all of the other Tributes felt as they walked into the Justice Building as he did; as they were drawn for the Games, drawn for their certain deaths, like he had been. Fear clung to Merry's heart, and it almost consumed him. He wondered how he was going to get any sleep with this fear gnawing at his brain with each and every second that passed. He wondered how he could stomach anything with the sickness that seemed to have decided to take root there. He wondered how much longer he was going to get to be alive.

He wondered whether it really was worth it to try to survive so long when he was just going to be killed like the other twenty-two victims of the Games. The Victor would not be from Ten this year, Merry knew that much. He wouldn't be surprised, however, if Estella made it far. She seemed to have a survival instinct buried in her brain, and it would most certainly come in handy as they entered the Games.

Merry was terrified of Estella, really. He thought that she would be the one to kill him, and he did not even want to be in the Chariot with her as they looped around the Capitol. It would not surprise Merry the slightest if Estella took the chance to dump him out of the Chariot as they rode by. But, the Chariot Ride would be tomorrow evening, and right now, Merry had to worry about his sobbing parents, and the factor that he couldn't cry.

_**But**_, the back of his mind pestered him; _**tomorrow evening is the Chariot Ride**_. He shook his head slightly, trying to get the thought out of his mind, as he then looked at his parents, and gave them a small smile. They were then escorted away by the Peacekeepers, and it left Merry to his thoughts. He wondered what he was going to be dressed as. He would most likely a cow, a horse, or a cowboy. If the stylist had a sense of humour, they might decide to make Estella into a cowgirl, and be holding a whip.

Merry shuddered at the thought, as he tried to get his mind off of the Chariot ride. Dressing up in a costume in front of thousands of people was really not the top of his to-be-worrying about list at the moment. He had bigger things to worry about, like the fact that he was going to die in the next couple days. He thought about it for a moment; wondering if he was going to try to do anything to keep himself alive in the Games, or if he was just going to give up and let the Careers make him apart of the normal massacre that usually occurred on the first day.

Merry was stubborn though, and the thought of letting Estella live on longer than him, or possibly be the one to take his life convinced him that he should not just give up. He would try to make it out of that arena alive; no matter what the cost was. But, there was one thing that he refused to do. He would not, and most likely could not, kill Estella. Though he was terrified of her, and though she would most likely slaughter him in his sleep if she got the chance, Merry would not be able to kill his fellow District partner.

He wasn't even sure if he would be able to kill a person, but to kill a person that he once knew would not be something that Merry was comfortable with. Merry knew that morals would most likely get him killed in the Hunger Games, but he was going to stick with that one. He sighed to himself, as the Peacekeeper finally came to retrieve him from the room he had been locked in.

As they were being lead out to the train, Estella gave him a little glare, and then a cold smirk, before she stepped onto the train. Merry let the shock show through on his face, before his brows furrowed, and he was lead onto the train.

"Well, did you see that?" The big booming voice of Cladius Templesmith said as he looked at the small TV screen that he was commentating on with Caesar Flickerman. "It seems as though the Tributes from Ten don't get along!"

"Indeed!" Caesar agreed with him, "These Games are sure to be one of the best!"

Legolas grinned as he rocked back in his chair, looking out the barred window at District One. Nobody had come to visit him, and Legolas did not mind it at all. He was too busy coming up with a plan to become the Victor of the Games, and he had not the time to feel sentimental about anything that he was going to leave behind. He cared not for the people he was leaving behind; though his friends had not come to visit him, and Legolas was wondering if they were even his friends after all. _**Well**_, he reckoned to himself, _**they were probably disappointed that he had become the Tribute instead of them.**_

Legolas's smile grew as he thought of all of the frustrated eighteen-year-olds that would never be able to go into the Games like he was going to be. Legolas had beaten them all in a sense, and they were now probably very angry with him. Legolas knew that they would laugh if he died, and if he came back, be angry with him. Victors of One were not usually well received by the people their age. Though they meant that One was a strong District, all of the others would know that it could have been them looking down at all of the people with the smug expression on their lips.

He thought about his older sister and his brother, both of whom had become the Victors of One. His sister had been the Mentor of their last male Tribute, but the Tribute had died on the first day, and she had nothing else to worry about for the rest of the Games. Legolas wondered what it would be like to Mentor a Tribute, for he knew that he was going to do it in the next year.

He wondered what it would be like to Mentor those who were stupid, hard-headed, and only relied on their strength to get them through the Games. Legolas would probably have a hard time not snapping their necks as he Mentored them. Strength would not be enough to get him through the Games; it was never enough to get anybody through the Games. Tributes would have to be smart, quick, and strong to make it out of the Games, and Legolas knew that he was all three, and that he would be able to make it out of the Games.

He was going to win, there really was not competition about it at all. Legolas knew that he was going to be the Victor. He wouldn't even care about killing his own District partner; the girl with the ridiculous name. Legolas thought for a moment, and then remembered her name; Sparkle. A person with a name like that almost deserved to be killed. But, Legolas knew that he would have to be allied with her in the Career alliance, and he groaned to himself about it. Hopefully she wasn't as annoying as her name was.

But, Legolas knew that most girls in One were rather annoying, especially when it came to him. Ever since his brother had won the Games, they had tried to suck up to Legolas; trying to get him to like them so they could be rich like he was. Legolas had put up with them, but had been very tempted to kill them all in their sleep, and now that he thought about it, he was surprised that none of them were swarming around him like flies to a carcass.

Finally, the door opened, and Legolas expected it to be the Peacekeeper, telling him that his hour was up and that he would be able to get onto the train. Legolas just wanted to get to the Capitol so he could meet his stylist, and see all of his fellow Tributes. It would be a lot easier planning out their deaths if he knew what they looked like. But, it was not, it was his Father, and behind him, a girl that Legolas had tolerated.

She had been one of the nicer girls, the less pushy one who had been his friend when he was a younger boy before any of his siblings won the Games. She had blonde hair like most of the people of District One, and her green eyes were filled with tears. She sat down beside Legolas's father, Thranduil, who was looking drunk. Even from where Legolas was sitting, he could smell the alcohol on his father's breath.

Legolas sighed to himself. Ever since his first brother had been slaughtered in the Games, his father had taken to drinking. Before this had happened, his father was a wine collector, and now, his valuable supply had been drunk as he lost himself to his drink. Legolas knew that since his only daughter had come back from the Games, he was better than he was before, but still, he would hear his father moaning about Legolas's deceased elder brother, usually as his father guzzled down more alcohol.

His father said nothing; instead, he just swayed back and forth in his chair. Legolas looked at his friend. "Did you have to bring him here?"

"It was the only way they would let me in, Legolas. There's a hoard of girls all claiming to be your distant relations. Honestly, half of them are just wanting to come in so you can confess your undying love to them and promise them that you'd win for them," She said with a roll of her eyes. She gave Legolas a smile, and continued, "So, you're going to win. And when you do, you're going to apologize to me for putting yourself in the Games."

"Really?" Legolas raised his eyebrows at her, and then gave a little laugh. "I'll win, Em, you know I will."

Emerald, victim of the bad names of One, rolled her eyes yet again, "Sure you will, _**Leggy.**_ Just come back. I don't even care if you win, but you're my friend, and I don't want to watch you die on the silver screen. I've already watched all of your brothers do so."

"Rynuil won, you know," Legolas mentioned, and then he looked at his friend, "And I will too."

"You better," Emerald replied, before she hoisted Thranduil up by his arm, and brought him out of the room. Legolas let her threat sit in, and then laughed again to himself. Well, he was going to have to win these Games now, or Emerald would probably kill him again in the afterlife.

Legolas was soon let on the train, and he smirked to himself as he watched District One turn into a blur as the train sped out of the station.

Aragorn had no visitors, for there was nobody who was going to visit him. He had not made very many friends, and the only one who might have visited him would be Elrond, but he was to be Aragorn's Mentor, and would be most likely speaking to Aragorn's fellow Tribute, and Elrond's daughter, Arwen, than he would be to Aragorn. But Aragorn didn't mind. As a boy, he was used to being alone, and had confided himself with survival skills just for this moment. If he should be feeling anything, it would be thankfulness that he got to go into these Games in the first place.

Aragorn knew that he would have to fight hard to win these Games, especially since he was not going to be the usual Career alliance. No, Aragorn was not going to be grouped up with Arwen, and the idiots from One and Four. Aragorn would win these Games alone. He didn't need any of their help to win these Games. Aragorn knew that he could easily survive the initial blood bath with his sword skills, and that he could easily find food in the while.

If he couldn't, he was sure that he would be able to get a backpack of some sort that was ensured to have food in it. Aragorn had noticed in the past Hunger Games that there was never a pack that didn't have food, or water in it. The Game Makers wanted to reward the Tributes with food, water and weapons so their deaths would not be in anyways boring. Aragorn knew that the Capitol people wished to see gruesome deaths, not people slowly withering away like a stone that would get eroded by the sea.

With this knowledge, Aragorn would be able to win these Games. He could easily get sponsors, he was attractive enough, and, even though he usually did not interact with people, he had a very convincing side of him. He could be charismatic when he wanted to, and he would certainly use it to his advantage on both the Chariots and in his interview. Aragorn knew that he would be able to charm women of the Capitol, and perhaps some men, with what he could do, and Aragorn was not going to lay that to waste.

But, there was a problem with Aragorn in these Games. Elrond's daughter had volunteered, and with her in the running, it would be obvious that Aragorn's Mentor would favour his daughter instead of him. Though, Elrond could not deny the money that would be for Aragorn's supplies, he could simply not send them to Aragorn, and once Aragorn died, use the money for his daughter instead. Aragorn hoped that it would not be the case, but he had to keep his doubts up, and he knew that sponsors would be easy to obtain, but their gifts would be hard to obtain.

Elrond, however, would not be able to deny Aragorn of something that he desperately needed to keep himself alive, even if it was only him and Arwen left in the finals. As his job as a Mentor, Elrond was to ensure that his Tribute made it out of the arena, not his fellow Mentor's Tribute. Aragorn knew that Elrond's fellow Mentor was the girl who had won last year. Aragorn remembered her breaking a tributes arm in her grasp, but that was really the only thing he recalled about the girl.

Now, it would be his turn to win the Games. Two would certainly be victorious for another year again, and the people of Two would adore Aragorn. He would be a Victor, Aragorn knew that he would be. It would be so easy to become one, with all of the weaklings he would be thrown in the arena with. The people from the higher numbered Districts usually died on the first day, and the others would soon follow.

Aragorn remembered that the last people left of the last year's Hunger Games had been the girl that had won from Two, and a Greenleaf from one. Aragorn frowned as he thought about the Greenleafs. They were a large family that had managed to get into the Games for the past six years, and only two of them had made it out alive. Aragorn was not sure if there was another one out there, but if there was, he would most likely be hunted down by the Greenleaf in vengeance of their lost brother to the Tribute from Two last year.

Aragorn knew that he would relish this opportunity to show that Two was most certainly better than One would ever be. If there was a Greenleaf in these Games, and if Aragorn killed them, he would show that not only did Two kill the last Greenleaf the year before, but Two had killed them again. At this, Aragorn hoped that there would be a Greenleaf in these Games as he was led away from the Justice Room, and onto the train with Arwen.

He spared Arwen no glance, as a cold smirk stayed rested on his face as the train sped off towards the Capitol.

The door to the Justice Room burst open within the first five seconds Boromir had been put into it, and his little brother, Faramir threw himself onto the older man's lap. Tears were streaming down Faramir's face, as Boromir wrapped his arms around the little boy. Boromir had practically raised Faramir, ever since their mother had died when they were ten and five respectively. Though there was a five year age gap, Boromir adored Faramir and treated him often like they were the same age.

Boromir's father, however, absolutely detested Faramir for some reason. Though Boromir could not comprehend the real reason, he assumed that it was because Faramir resembled their mother more than he did, and his father hated the boy for that. Faramir had a brilliant mind; he was much smarter than Boromir was, even though Boromir considered himself clever, but not as athletic. This had contributed to the reason of why Boromir did not let Faramir volunteer for him in the Games.

After Faramir had finished crying, he stayed on his older brother's lap, even though he was thirteen, and this would normally be considered unacceptable. Faramir knew that this would be the last time he would ever see Boromir, and he wanted to cherish it as long as he could. Boromir was everything to Faramir, and since he was going to be killed in the Games, Faramir wanted to make sure that Boromir knew that.

Boromir smiled at Faramir, and then began to talk to the boy slowly, reminding him things that Boromir would never be able to remind Faramir ever again. It was simple things, such as, 'Do your homework,' to complicated things involving trading at the Hob, and tending to the goat that Boromir had only managed to buy with the money he had gotten from selling off his mother's old things.

He had kept one thing though, and Faramir had brought it to him to use as a token. It was a small wooden bracelet with a white stone in the shape of a horn on it. Boromir had put it on his wrist before he had begun to talk to Faramir, and when he had finished, Boromir gave his brother a large hug, and kept him in it for a long while. Faramir hugged his brother back, trying to keep the tears from falling yet again, as Boromir then whispered, "I love you, Faramir, don't forget. Even if I'm gone, I'll always love you."

Faramir felt the tears sting at his eyes as Denethor then walked into the room. The man held his head high, as he then said one thing to Boromir. "You have been given this honour; make sure you win," before he turned and left. Faramir nestled in closer to Boromir, and since he had no more visitors, they were allowed to have the whole hour together before Boromir had to go on the train.

As Boromir was being led, he looked at Faramir, and gave the boy a little smile before the train doors closed, and Boromir knew that he would never see the boy again. Sniffling beside him was Ioreth; the girl who had been chosen to fight to the death with him.

She looked up at him, and then gave him a forced smile. "Good luck, Boromir."

"You too," Boromir muttered back before they parted to their own rooms.

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><p><strong>I lied about the Chariots and the Train Ride... I got carried away with the goodbyes! So, the Train Ride is for sure next chapter, the Chariots... welll, you know, they might not come... XD I want to get to the Games as soon as possible, but I don't want to leave out the basic stuff... I'm sorry if it's boring, but I had fun writing it. <strong>

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><p><strong>Thanks to takulyra444, LilyMaeve, D.L. Sauron-AlmightyLOTRnerd, butterflyninja935, thewayfaringstrangers, Kooky Kit and Kat, secretninjawomaninblack, K Finance, and elriastar for reviewing! Thanks to dancingqueen18,Viowolf, CharlotteDarkrose, takulyra444, LilyMaeve, <strong>D.L. Sauron-AlmightyLOTRnerd, ProudMudblood42, MarissaCan'tRememberHerPassword, butterflyninja935, thewayfaringstrangers, Kooky Kit and Kat, secretninjawomaninblack, K Finance, and LikeIdTell U for either favouriting or subscribing! <strong>I apologize if the names are spelt wrong... my copy and paste thing isn't really working... **

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><p><strong>Thanks for reading, and please review! <strong>

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><p><strong><span>To thewayfaringstrangers, and any other who has not read the Hunger Games and is reading this. I know Legolas is not very competitive, but he is a Career, which means that he have been trained for this all of his life, and grew up with thinking that the Hunger Games are something to fight to get into. That's why he's like this... I'm sorry for the OOCness...<span>**


	3. Train Rides

_**~One Game to rule them all,  
><strong>__**One Game to bind them,  
><strong>__**One Game to bring them all  
><strong>__**And may the odds be ever in your favour~***_

_***Changed on request of ichipup saying that Game would fit much better than Ring.**_

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><p>Aragorn and Arwen did not speak to each other throughout the whole train ride, and Elrond spoke but only to Aragorn. It seemed as though Elrond had decided that it was his duty to protect his Tribute, instead of his daughter. Aragorn could see him casting Arwen glances though, almost as if he was wondering why his daughter seemed to choose to go into the Games with Aragorn. It was almost as though Elrond knew that she stood no chance against Aragorn in a close combat situation. This, to some extent, pleased Aragorn.<p>

Aragorn knew that he was going to be the Victor, and if Elrond knew it as well, Aragorn was sure that he would win these Games. He sat there, watching the other Reapings on the television, his eyes narrowing as he looked at the fellow Careers. One of them _was _a Greenleaf, while the other three looked like Aragorn could easily take them out. The boy from Four did not look very strong, and he kept on rubbing this ring on his hand. If he was that easily distracted, Aragorn knew that he would be easily killed.

He wondered if they were doing the same; looking as he ran up to volunteer, and then would start to plot his death. Aragorn knew that he would not have a death in these Games though, and that he would be the one to rise up as a Victor. He thought about the Greenleaf; who was probably thinking the same thing. There could only be one of them going out of the Games, and Aragorn knew of that only two out of the last six Greenleafs had made it out of the Games. There would be no way that this one could.

Aragorn was startled, though he did not show it, when he heard Arwen's voice from behind him. "Those are the Tributes? They look nothing more than weaklings."

Aragorn did not say so, but he was grouping Arwen in with those weaklings. He had never seen her fight before, and he had never seen her in the Training arena in Two. Her potential was really unknown to Aragorn, but, as were the rest of the Tributes', and Aragorn knew he was making a slight gamble by assuming that all of them were weak. Most of the Tributes were, Aragorn could tell by their body structures.

Many of them were frail from hunger slowing eating away at their insides, and apart from the ones from Seven, he had nothing really to worry about. Though Sevens could wield axes, both of these looked like they could not lift an axe for their lives. Usually, the slight figures from Eleven were swift from working in the orchards, but these two were not as light as they should be to do so, and Aragorn knew that there would be no shocking entry from any District; nobody would could kill them all but have no training beforehand.

"Indeed," Aragorn agreed in a one word answer, and then Arwen gave him a little smile. Aragorn didn't know why she was being so nice to him; most likely because she wanted to be allied with him in the arena. Little did she know, Aragorn thought to himself, he was not going to have any allies in the arena. Allies would just get in his way, and he would have to put up with them before he murdered them at the right time. Even then it would be a gamble. He would never know when he needed his allies again. So, Aragorn had decided to skip that gamble completely, and go alone.

It would be easier for him; he had been alone for the majority of his life at the orphanage. He had not been very good at making any friends, and Aragorn knew that if he was not able to make friends there, then he wouldn't be very able to make any allies in the Games. But, he was used to being alone, and unlike most of the other Tributes, he would not go insane from being isolated. He knew by being alone, he clearly had the upper hand.

Arwen eventually left him as he began to watch as the other Tributes were lead to the trains much like he had been. He wondered why the two from Ten looked as though they were ready to murder each other; or at least the female Tribute did. Aragorn wondered if perhaps, she would be a difficult Tribute to face. But, all she seemed to wield was malice, and there was no strength in that.

He grinned to himself as the train passed through the tunnel of the mountains surrounding the east side of the Capitol; blocking the Districts from the west. Aragorn knew that once they were out of this tunnel, he would be in the brightly coloured city that had much more advanced technology than the rest of the Districts. Now he would meet his designer, and the water in the Games would finally start to boil.

Legolas certainly had been right about Sparkle Sprinkle. The girl was absolutely unbearable to stand, and he could see that Glorfindel, Legolas's Mentor, and even Galadriel, the woman who would be Mentoring Sparkle clearly wished that the girl would just be quiet for a couple of minutes. Above the chatter of their Capitol escort, who had changed his furry purple coat and his pink eyelashes to a yellow leather coat, and bright orange lashes (that matched his bright orange shirt). His hair, which had been dyed a dark purple-pink looked rather odd, but Legolas could see the matching with the escort's bright pink pants.

Legolas shook his head; he was becoming like one of the Capitol people. If he kept this up, he was sure he was going to start talking in their high-pitched, squeakily accented voices and would dye his hair a bright red and prance around in pants made only of sequins. No, Legolas knew that he would never go that far, but he knew that if he stayed around the Capitol people, he would grow to talk like them. Legolas severely hoped that he would not do so; their voices were so annoying, especially when they were putting on a concert with Sparkle Sprinkle's voice.

Legolas held the butter knife in his hand, and had long finished putting the butter on his roll, which he was now eating with a sense of anger in it; secretly pretending that it was Sparkle's face. His hand on the knife was growing white with his tight grip. Glorfindel realized this, and then reached out and patted Legolas's shoulder. In a small whisper, Glorfindel then said, "You only have to put up with her until the Games."

"Both of them," Galadriel said with a slight grin, her head inclined in the direction of the escort. The man was chatting up a storm with Sparkle; clearly they were both becoming fast friends, and that was something that Legolas was not willing to come with their escort. Not only was this man annoying; he was the same man who was the escort for all of his siblings, and Legolas had heard stories about him from his older sister.

He was not that reliable; usually, according to his sister and brother, the man picked a favourite, and tried to keep that favourite alive in the Games. Usually it was the female Tribute from one, but in his sister's case, she had told him off and the man had favoured the boy. Legolas knew it must have been a shock for the escort when she killed of the same male Tribute that the escort had favoured. Perhaps that was why the man had given a cold shoulder to the rest of the Greenleafs, causing the deaths of two of them.

Though Legolas could not completely put the blame on the escort, he could not blame his own sibling's incompietence, and thus, Legolas held a grudge against this escort. Legolas knew that this grudge would not help him get farther in the Games, but he did not need his escort to rave about him in front of his friends to get sponsors like the majority of the tributes would.

Legolas was attractive, and he knew it. He could smile, and it would make girls fall for him. He could use it for an advantage to get sponsors. Since he had trained for this all of his life, he would get a high training score, which would lead to sponsors. Also, he would be known as a Greenleaf and that would drag more sponsors in. Legolas knew, whether he had his escort on his side or not, he would get many sponsors.

That was all he needed to know, as the train travelled under the mountains surrounding the Capitol. That was all he really needed to win these Games.

Gimli did not like the train at all. Though it was lavish, and though they had a large quantity of rich food, Gimli hated it. The train ran smoothly on the tracks, but it always seemed to be too loud for Gimli to be able to get a decent sleep on. The quiet Avoxes standing in the corners bothered Gimli. Just the fact that the Capitol had stolen their voice for what they had done; it was like what the Capitol was doing to Gimli at this moment. The only difference between them was that Gimli still had his voice.

And he would not be afraid to use it. Though he was a prisoner of the Capitol, did not mean that Gimli had to accept the fact that he could do nothing to change it. He knew that no matter what he did, he would most likely be killed in the Games, and Gimli didn't mind. If he did what he thought he was going to do, Gimli would most likely be killed by the Game Makers if anything else.

He chose to be quiet for the ride, not speaking with Balin, his mentor, or the absurdity that was his escort. Today, the woman's hair was still a flame atop her head, but her bronze lip colour had been traded with a sunset orange colour. Her dress was not down to the floor, instead, it was cropped short at her thighs; in a way that Gimli could never describe as modest. She was gabbing away with Freya, who seemed rather uncomfortable with talking with her, and was slowly trying to inch away from the strange woman.

When Freya realized that she couldn't move any farther away from the woman, she then looked down at her food, and became completely absorbed with it. She was sipping something Gimli had heard Balin call hot chocolate, something that Gimli had never had before. He took his own cup of the creamy, chocolate drink and found that he rather liked it. He glared at the escort over his cup as he took tentative sips of it.

In between sips, Gimli would nibble on the rolls, fruit, and other sorts of food he had never even seen before, and would never be able to afford. Freya seemed to be doing the same; eating as much as she possibly could without throwing up her breakfast. Gimli thought to do the same, as he forced himself to consume the whole pancake in front of him, before he rewarded himself with a sip of the hot chocolate.

Freya seemed to realize what Gimli was doing, and how he rewarded himself, and she gave a small giggle as Gimli took another sip of the cup. Gimli smiled at her for a brief second, and then allowed the smile to slip away from his lips as he realized that the escort was now looking at him.

"Oh, you seem much more attractive when you smile, Gerard," She stated, and Gimli merely glared at her before he forced himself to eat another roll. After this, he was feeling quite full, and would have rather escaped back to his room, but he knew he would have to try to get Balin to say at least some words of advice to stay alive in the Games.

"His name is Gimli, not Gerard," Freya said quietly, and Gimli had to chuckle under his breath at the little girl's boldness. Her amber eyes flashed up to Gimli's, carrying the same amused spark that his were, before they flickered away, back down on the chocolate covered piece of apple she had on her plate.

"Dear Ferny, I had forgotten, thank you for telling me," The escort told her, ruffling Freya's hair. At this the little girl picked up the piece of the apple on her plate, and ate it with more vigour than she should have otherwise. This amused Gimli further, as he then finished his hot chocolate, having a hard time not snorting into it at Freya's next comment.

"My name is Freya, not Ferny, Fire Woman," Freya told her, before she then pushed out her chair. Making quite a show of flattening her hair, Freya then walked over to her own Mentor, and began to talk strategy with him. The escort seemed appalled of a moment, but then gave a little laugh as if Freya had not bothered her at all. Gimli could tell that Freya's comment had, however, bothered her, as the escort then ran a hand through her red-orange-yellow layered hair.

Gimli pushed his chair away, and then dismissed himself wordlessly, knowing that in the next couple of days, the little girl that made this trip much more enjoyable would most likely be back in District Five. But, she would not be back in the way that Gimli would have liked her to be; Freya stood no chance in these Games, both Gimli and the girl herself knew it.

Gimli sighed to himself, as he turned on the TV, watching the reruns of the Reapings. It bothered him to watch all of his fellow Tributes walking towards their own deaths as their name was drawn, and he hated the fact that each of them had a family to return to if they were to win the Games. He knew that twenty-three of them would not return, and he knew that he would be one of them.

It almost pained him to watch as they were drawn, and Gimli then turned off the TV and stared at the ceiling. Sighing to himself, he then realized that most of them would not be feeling the same sadness that he was currently. As the windows darkened as he passed through the tunnels of the mountains, Gimli knew that his empathy; and the voice he was currently refusing to use would most likely be the things to kill him.

Boromir had to admit that he was amazed by the trains. Compared to his home in the Seam of District Twelve, this train was a sweet haven. He could not help but think of Faramir home with his father, in the house that had many holes in it. Even in the summer heat, it would grow cold at night, and he thought of Faramir shivering in the burlap blanket. It was on these nights that the boys were both grateful that they shared a bed for sharing their body warmth had saved them many times in the winter.

Boromir missed these days, even though he was in a much warmer place. He missed his little brother, and he knew that he would never see him again, which made the feeling throb painfully in his chest. He wanted to run away from this train, back to District Twelve, back to his little brother, but he knew if he did so, then he would surely be dead. The little chance he had in the Games was enough to make him accept the fact that he would die.

But, there was a hope burning inside of him; the foolish little hope that he would be able to go back to District Twelve. He knew that he would never make it, but the hope didn't seem to understand the logic of it, and continued to blaze in secret. No matter how he tried to put it out, it would always blaze there, and Boromir knew that he was just going to have to let it stay there; convincing him to not just let himself die on the first day.

He rolled over in the bed, and then looked out the window of his room. The train was moving much too fast for him to be able to see the distinct figures of the trees that they were passing by, when suddenly, there was a bright light. Boromir knew that they were passing another District, and he then groaned to himself, as he curled up in his bed, and tried to image that he was at home. Sleep finally came to him, and he had a luckily dreamless sleep until the annoying voice of his escort woke him.

"Up, up, up! We have a big, big day ahead of us!" She piped, knocking non-stop on his door. Boromir's eyes twitched in annoyance, as he dressed himself, and then put the bracelet on his wrist. He hid it with the sleeve of his shirt, as he walked out for breakfast. He saw that Ioreth was already there, as was their Mentor; the only living Victor from Twelve. Beregond didn't seem to notice Boromir, as the man picked up a grape, and plopped it in his mouth.

Ioreth nodded to Boromir as he sat down, but then looked down at the floor. Boromir could tell that she had been crying this morning, for her eyes were red, and there were tear marks down her face. Boromir didn't know Ioreth, but he had seen her in school. She was always so tentative, and shy, and Boromir knew that this was not a strategy. He wondered if she was purposely making herself seem weak so she could get killed sooner and have it over with. But, from what Boromir did know of the girl, this did not seem to be what she would do.

After many long minutes of only their escort jabbering at them, and Beregond telling to 'kindly shut up', Ioreth finally looked at Boromir. They both shared the same grey eyes, Boromir realized; the same eyes of the Seam. Quietly, under her breath, Ioreth said, "Why?"

"Pardon?" Boromir asked, looking down at the girl. She stared at him for a long while, as if she was trying to see if Boromir was just bothering her, or if he didn't understand what she was asking him. Boromir stared back down at her, his brows furrowed as he looked at the younger girl. He didn't understand what she was trying to get him to answer. The word 'why' could be used for so many things. Perhaps she was asking why he was so quiet, or why he hadn't cried. Or maybe she was asking why he was eating an apple of all of the things lain out for them to eat.

Finally, Ioreth continued, "Why didn't you let him volunteer for you?"

Boromir's eyes widened at this, and he then cast Ioreth a small glare. But, Boromir did not leave her question unanswered. "I did not let him volunteer for me because he is my brother. Though I stand little chance, he would stand less. I wish for him to live; that is why."

"You had what I wanted... and you threw it away. You had a way to escape this!" Ioreth's voice was strained, and even their escort and Mentor had stopped their bickering to listen to the conversation. Boromir's eyes narrowed at Ioreth as tears began to stream down her face. "No-nobody wanted to volunteer for me... not even my sisters! They seemed re-relieved that it was m-me and n-not them!"

Boromir then knew what was driving Ioreth to ask this question; jealously. In Ioreth's eyes, Boromir had thrown away his opportunity to live, and perhaps even the fact that he had an opportunity to get out of the Games made Ioreth jealous. She was just jealous that Faramir cared enough for Boromir to throw his life away, while her family seemed to not care for her at all. Boromir's face softened at Ioreth, and then said, "It takes a lot of bravery to even try to say that you want to volunteer for a Tribute. Perhaps they wanted to, but they could not."

Ioreth glared at him, and then stood up abruptly, knocking into the table as she walked down the train to her room. Boromir sighed to himself, and then looked at the escort and the Mentor. His Mentor shrugged at him, and continued to eat more grapes, while the escort gave him a forced smile, before she walked down the train, probably to find Ioreth.

After the escort left, Beregond then said, "Well, that went well. At least you don't have to worry about her; she'll probably want to kill you for that comment."

Boromir took a bite of his apple, and groaned internally. He had just made himself an enemy in the Games, before they had truly even started.

Frodo spent the majority of his train ride avoiding Lobelia like she had the plague. Though fighting between Tributes was something not allowed, Frodo knew that Lobelia would not pass up the chance to smash him into walls, or even break a glass over his head if it meant that she was going home and he wasn't. But, Frodo wasn't going to let some glass or a bruise stop him from winning the Games. He would even kill Lobelia if it meant for him to go home.

The train, Frodo had to admit, had better luxury on it than his home, and his District was considered to be one of the richest. He only assumed that the District was about as nice as the train would be; but he had been wrong. Clearly, anything that came from the Capitol would trump any, meagre District's items, even if they were made by the same processer.

He wondered if the people in District One lived in such luxury, seeing as they were the ones to make it, but Frodo highly doubted it. As the people of Four were not allowed to take the food that they brought from the ocean, the people of One were most likely not allowed to have free, high-class furniture, even if they were the ones to create it. Frodo allowed himself to be distracted by these thoughts; Nine would most likely not have free grain, and the ones from Ten would probably have to buy their meat from the butcher.

It was clear to anybody that Frodo was not worrying about the Games; he was fine, really. He had volunteered for these Games, and he planned to win them. He twisted the ring on his hand as he thought about the Games for the first time since he had boarded the train. Flicking on the TV, Frodo then watched as the reruns of the Reapings, (which he was sure had been playing all day). Eyeing up his fellow competitors, Frodo knew that he ones he would have to look out for were the usual people to watch. The ones from One and Two. Lobelia. Other than that, Frodo didn't have to worry much.

He smiled to himself, and then looked along the shelf in the train. They actually had books here, which was surprising for Frodo. He thought that most of the people in the Capitol didn't even know how to read. **Well**, he reckoned, a grin on his face, **the world is full of surprises.**

He read until late at night, and then slept in as much as he could before the annoying escort pounded on his door. The man, whom Frodo had not cared to find a name for, talked to him on and on about how excited he was for the Games, and how he knew that Frodo was to be the one to win them. Frodo tuned out to this man by picking up his book, and beginning to read yet again. He almost walked into Lobelia, but was spared getting beaten up by the same annoying escort Frodo had secretly wished was in the Games with him.

Though Frodo did appreciate the fact that he prevented him from smashing into Lobelia, he did not like the fact that the escort had his arm around Frodo's shoulder until he reached the breakfast table. Finally, he was released, and Frodo sat down at the table, continuing to read his book. He managed to get a couple of bites to eat as he read, but mainly, he focused on the book.

There really was nothing else he had to worry about at the moment apart from the little book in his hand. It was actually okay, though Frodo could tell it was written by a person from the Capitol, seeing as whenever they got to describe a character, it went for at the least two paragraphs. Frodo groaned as he got through the two paged description of one of the characters, and then flipped the page. Apart from the Capitol author's strange fetish with describing characters, the book was still good.

His Mentor was also sitting at the table with Frodo, a slightly amused expression on his face as he looked down upon the boy from Four. Gandalf was a rather elderly man, who had grown up with Frodo's uncle, Bilbo, and was often mentioned in the old Baggins's tales. Often Gandalf would come to visit Bilbo, and whenever Gandalf was there, as was Frodo. The two knew each other quite well, and they were rather comfortable with each other's presence, unlike Lobelia and her Mentor, Sméagol.

Frodo mindlessly flipped another page of his book, as the train's windows then darkened, telling them that they were to arrive in the Capitol soon. Frodo grinned to himself as he continued to read the book. There really was no other problem for him in the world at the moment.

Pippin had to admit, he really did like the food in the Capitol. It was almost as good as he thought it was; almost, because it was much better. He often would just stare at the food he would otherwise never be able to afford before he decided to take a bite of it. He had tried to control himself, so he wouldn't throw up the food, but after every meal, Pippin would have to lie down on his bed, and close his eyes, trying to get the rocking of the train to stop as he kept his meal down.

After he had stopped wanting to throw up, Pippin would usually just wander the train, or, in the case of this morning, wander into the shower and be sprayed by multiple scents. In the end, Pippin came out smelling like one: a little girl, and two: a flower shop. After he walked into the breakfast room, his escort realized the trouble he was having with his shower, and then showed him how to use it properly.

He had returned to lunch smelling much more like what the Capitol expected a man to smell like, and then after eating, and repeating the process of waiting for his stomach sickness to disappear, Pippin began to wander the train. There really was nothing that interesting to see on the train apart from the mountains and mountains of food. Pippin groaned to himself, as he then wandered back to the buffet, where he then saw the man who was to be his Mentor. Paladin.

It really was a miracle that Pippin even had a Mentor, seeing as District Six hadn't had a Victor in at least twenty years. _**And, **_Pippin thought to himself, _**there probably wouldn't be another one in another twenty years. **_Though Pippin was usually optimistic about most things in life, from being in poverty to getting teased at school; this was something that Pippin couldn't be optimistic about. For all he knew, he was as good as dead to most of the people back in District Six. His family was probably already planning out his funeral.

His Mentor only paid attention to the buffet, though he looked as though he was ridden with sorrow as he picked at the turkey that was on the table. He kept his head down and focused on the turkey, as if he was trying to stop reliving any of the horrible memories of his Games. Pippin understood this completely; if he had won the Hunger Games, he would hate going on this train again.

Pippin sat down across from him, and then took his own plate of food, eating rather slowly, savouring every bite. As he did this, he wondered how he was going to die. He hoped that he wouldn't slowly erode away by hunger, thirst, or sickness. But, he also didn't want to be killed in a violent way. If Pippin had to choose anything, he would rather that he allied with somebody, and then have them kill him in a nice way. Pippin knew that if his death meant that another one of his allies could go on, then Pippin would let it be so.

Finally, after minutes of silent, Paladin then said, "You've accepted the factor of your certain death. I can see it in your eyes. You're a brave one, Peregrin."

Pippin just nodded, and then let his thoughts waver off to the food again, only focusing on it, like Paladin had been doing, trying to not think about his death.

Sam hated the fact that he was trapped on a metal machine; his home and family and friends far away from him. He wished that he could be back at his home, and that somebody else was in his place, but he then realized that everybody but the Careers wished that they were like this too. He remembered the faces of all of the Tributes that left; not their facial features, but the fact that they all had this hollow look to them. It was almost as if they were just walking corpses.

Sam wondered if he looked the same as they did, as he forced himself to turn on the TV, and looked at the reruns of all of the Reapings. He watched, as name after name was drawn, and then felt sorrow fill his heart. These were people that he would have to be put up against. He wondered how many he was actually going to kill, and he hoped that he would never have to kill any of them. The sly-looking boy from Four; the nonchalant one from Five, and his twelve-year-old District partner. Did they all know that they were to die? All of them would, all but one of the Tributes would die.

Sam could see the determination in the eyes of the Tributes from One, Two and Four, but for the rest of them, they all had a dull fear in them, or, hopelessness, like the boy from Six. He wondered what he fell under. He certainly wasn't determined to win the Games; he knew that he was going to die. He wasn't exactly scared of the Games, but he knew that there was fear in his heart, and he had not completely accepted his death. He guessed that he was one that had fear nestled in his chest.

Sam groaned to himself, as he then forced himself off of the bed and into the shower. Though Sam had heard about the many buttons on the Capitol showers, he didn't think that his train one would have at least twenty. He pressed one of them, and then was showered with hot water, before cold blasted in his face, and he was covered in lilac smelling soap, before the hot water washed over him again. Sam gave a little laugh, and pressed another button, hoping that this one would make the smell of lilac go away.

Though Sam was fifteen, he had to admit he was having fun with the shower buttons, until he decided that one of the cycles was good enough, and he stepped from the shower; an hour later than when he walked in it. He dried his hair with a towel, and put on some of the Capitol clothes. He spent some time marvelling over how they were more soft and comfortable than his clothes at home, by a long shot.

Everything about the Capitol screamed that the Capitol was far more supreme than any of the Districts. From the simple things, like the excellent food to the comfortable clothing, and then there were the Games. There was no way that the Districts would be able to compete with such technology and power, and Sam knew that the attempt to do so was what created the Games. The Hunger Games were created as punishment for trying to rebel against the Capitol, and failing miserably.

Though Sam knew that now, his existence to most was one of a pawn on a large board of chess; he still wanted to try his hardest to get through the Games alive. Sam knew that it would start with making smart decisions, and one of them was keeping as much distance from Rosie Cotton as possible. Sam did not want it to end up as the two of them being last, but, somehow, he doubted that would even happen. Usually the Tributes from Eleven died off quickly in the Games, and Sam honestly expected not much more to come from him.

Rosie was a sitting at the table when he entered, her dark eyes flitting untrustingly around the metal train, trying to find something that looked somewhat like home. But, Sam could not see anything that would remind him of home, so he knew that Rosie would never be able to find that one sense of comfort. When he walked into the room, she gave him a little smile, before she wrung her hands together, and stared out at the wilderness passing them by.

Their Mentors, two rather old looking people, were sitting at the table, talking to themselves quietly, as if they were deciding what they were going to do with their Tributes this year. Sam could tell that they were trying to not get attached to the Tributes; knowing that at least one of them was going to die, and most likely both would. The woman Mentoring Rosie had dark hair that was much like Rosie's own hair, except it was littered with streaks of white. She looked rather uncomfortable on the train, and her hands kept on shaking as she tried to poor herself some tea.

Sam's Mentor was a man, about the age of fifty, with a hair that was much more white than black. His brown eyes spoke sorrow as he caught Sam's eyes with his own, before they broke away. Sam had heard about Gaffer; his second uncle who had never spoken to him before. Sam wondered if Gaffer knew who he was, or if the old man in front of him had hardly a clue that the male Tribute from Eleven was related to him, however vaguely it was.

Sam sat down across from Rosie, and then began to pile his plate full of food. Taking a slow bite of the melon in front of him, he wondered if it had been grown back at his home. He closed his eyes, and as he took every bite, he was reminded of his home in District Eleven; the tall grass dancing in the hot win, the shouts from the orchards as they harvested, and lastly, his little garden he left behind. He hoped that it would be taken care of after his death.

Sam finished his food, and consumed his memories of home, as the train passed into Capitol boarders.

Meriadoc Brandybuck, Tribute of District Ten, doubted that he would even make it to the Capitol alive. Estella Bolger, his fellow Tribute, was giving him rather scary death glares across the table that they were both sitting on. He wanted to shudder away from Estella, and hide his head, but that would make him seem weak, so he decided to stare on, knowing that he would probably be killed by her in the Games anyways.

Finally, Merry could not take it much longer, and he got up from the table, taking a large pear with him as he travelled back to his room. Lying down on his bed, Merry spent most of his time eating his pear, and thinking about what was going to happen to him. He wondered what kind of wood that they were going to use in the box that they were going to ship him home in. Maybe it would be mahogany.

Merry knew that out of all of the Tributes, he stood the least chance of survival. Even the twelve-year-old from Five had a better chance at walking away from these Games alive then he did. None of the other Tributes would have Estella chasing them down in an effort to murder him. Judging Estella, Merry knew that it would most likely be a very painful death; not something nice and quick. He wondered if he was planning the best way to dismember him without killing him immediately as she stared him down at the table.

So, Merry knew that if he was to survive these Games, then he would have to either wait until Estella was killed, or spend the whole time running away from her. He rather hoped it would be the first one, since he had decided that no matter what happened to him, he would not kill Estella. But, now he was thinking of taking that back from all of the glares she had been casting him.

He thought about a reason for her to hate him. The only time he could really recall doing anything mean to her was in first grade, when he accidentally split a bunch of paint down the front of her dress. He had said sorry, Merry recalled, and it really was the only thing he had ever done to Estella; nice or not. But still, it seemed as though out of the twenty-three others condemned to die with them, Estella thirsted for Merry's blood the most.

Well, at least it would give the audience a good show; the two enemies from District Ten. Merry groaned to himself; though Estella would seem to want to kill him brutally, he didn't want to kill her brutally, and would be rather lacking in the 'let's be bitter enemies' department of that plan. Perhaps Estella would be determined enough to swing sponsors her way. But, that would really leave Merry with nothing but a stronger Estella, and then twenty-two other tributes to have to deal with.

The only thing that could possibly keep Merry alive would be an alliance with other Tributes from other Districts. He liked the look of the boy from Six, even if he was one of the youngest in the Games; being only a year younger than Merry himself. But the boy had a sense to him; like he really didn't care what happened to him in these Games, and Merry decided that he would make a rather good ally. Peter; that was what Merry thought his name was.

Turning on the TV Merry realized that the boy's name was actually Peregrin, and he grinned to himself. They shared rather strange names. He wondered if this Peregrin went by a nickname like Merry did. Then it hit Merry; only one of them was going to make it out of these Games alive. He couldn't afford to become good friends with Peregrin if he knew that one of them was going to die.

This brought down Merry's spirits, and he wondered if he was would have been friends with Peregrin if they were from the same District. He hoped so, for if Merry was going to die, he wanted to have somebody that he considered a friend to be there with him as he died. With Estella wanting to kill him, this Peregrin was really the only person that could give Merry that one sense of security in the Games.

Merry watched the TV; some weird Capitol show about clothes that looked more like furniture than actual clothing items, until the train was carried underneath the mountains dividing the Districts and the Capitol. Merry knew that he was about to become one of those pieces of furniture soon; judging by the fact that he was about to meet his designer.

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><p><strong><span>Thanks to dancingqueen18, ichipup, takulyra444, LilyMaeve, and butterflyninja935 for reviewing! Thanks to ichipup, iTand, and DORK DOG for reviewing! Sorry for the late update, I've been very busy with soccer (football for anybody outside of North America).The reason why Gaffer is Sam's Mentor is because I wanted them to be connected to the characters, so I decided that Gaffer isn't Sam's father. Thanks for reading, and please review!<span>**


	4. Chariots!

**~One Game to rule them all,  
><strong>**One Game to find them,  
><strong>**One Game to bring them all,  
><strong>**And may the odds be ever in your favour.~**

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><p>Legolas's stylist; a man in his late twenties (or perhaps he was just too alerted by surgeries to look any older), seemed to know what he was doing. Knowing that Legolas was a Greenleaf, he allowed him to wear the leaf pin that all of his siblings before had done. But, apart from the pin, there was really nothing else that made Legolas recognizable when he wasn't dressed up.<p>

His hair had been spray-painted silver that shimmered with every movement that he made. Green jewels had been glued on his face beneath his eyes, bringing out the natural green eyes he had. Down his body, a shining array of precious jewels had been placed on his body, underneath the translucent silver, long sleeved shirt he was wearing. As if all of the jewels had not been enough, Legolas had strings of gold and silver braided through his hair. Legolas's pants were embedded with jewels as well, which caught the light. His shoes were merely silver shoes, but Legolas knew that the rest of him would stand out enough so the shoes could be ignored.

Legolas walked around in his new costume, smiling to himself as he then reached up and ran a hand through his silver hair. Though the rest of his body had been covered with jewels, and his natural hair colour masked by paint, his face had been left rather plain. He knew that this was a small attempt to show that Legolas was also attractive without being completely concealed like most other Tributes had to be.

In this get up, Legolas knew that he was sure to be one of the crowd's favourites. He looked in the mirror as he then gave his most winning smile, brightening his face drastically. He knew that if he played this right, then Legolas would be one of the most memorable of the Tributes.

Though Sparkle was dressed much like Legolas was, except there was a line of jewels across her shirt covering her female parts, and her outfit was in gold instead of silver, Legolas knew that he looked much better than Sparkle did. Apart from being annoying, the jewels on sparkle's face did not match her green eyes, instead, their stylist had decided to make them look different so people would not mistake Legolas for a girl, and instead, put red ones under her eyes. Legolas knew that they did not complement her face at all, and it was little details like this that the people of the Capitol picked out.

Sparkle turned around in her outfit, her golden-hair (obviously painted) falling over her face, where Legolas could see a bright red lipstick on her face. It was most likely an attempt to make the red jewels fit, but Legolas thought that it just made her face seem to red. But, Legolas was not a stylist, and as a Tribute, he had no say in what his fellow Tribute was dressed up as, though he did not care. If it meant that Legolas would get more sponsors than Sparkle, he didn't care.

He got up on his Chariot, and since District One was the first, he was soon greeted by the cheering crowds of the Capitol. Legolas smiled at them, and began to wave, causing many of the girls in the crowd to shriek at him. Many hands reached out, as if they wanted to touch the god-like, jewel-covered boy riding by them. This made Legolas's smile grow, especially when he realized that Sparkle had been trying to do the exact same thing as he was. Legolas smiled again, knowing that he had certainly made a lasting impression on the crowd, and that he would most certainly had gotten many, many sponsors.

With sponsors, Legolas knew that he would be able to win these Games easily, and that smug feeling nestled in his chest as he then did the final lap around City Circle, before the Chariot, with the snow-white horses, stopped, and they were then stopped to listen to the President's speech.

Aragorn was pleased with is costume. Since District Two created weapons, he was dressed in something that would reflect that, and it made him happy. His shirt was a plate of armour, which had an elaborate gold design on the front of it, spiralling around the front of the bronze armour plate. Underneath the armour was a leather shirt, and the ends that peaked out of the bottom had gold embroidery on them. He was lucky enough to be wearing a part of brown pants that, though they were not made of leather, resembled it quite well. Gold and bronze had been splattered tastefully around on his pants, and his boots, which were almost up to his knees, were a bright shining bronze.

Aragorn's hair had been left the way he usually kept it, though they had sprayed it with something that made it shimmer with bronze whenever a light passed over his hair. On his face, they had covered up most of his flaws, and had waxed off the little beard he had not bothered to shave. A bronze powder had been set on his face, as well as a bronze metal plate that covered his cheek bone beneath his eye, and then went down along the edge of his jaw. With a dark bronze eyeliner, Aragorn looked like he was ready to go off to war, and when he gave a smile, no matter how nice he tried it to show up, it always had a hint of wickedness and malice in it.

Aragorn knew that he looked good, and he had to admit, he liked what he was wearing. He had been rather sceptical about being dressed up in a costume like a little child, but now, he did not mind it. If only he could so up to his interview dressed as this instead of being dressed in a tuxedo; Aragorn would like his stylist very much. But, as Aragorn walked towards the Chariot, and the chestnut brown horses that pulled it, Aragorn's eyes could not help but wander around to his other Tributes.

He kept his head high, and proud, as he looked at the other Tribute's costumes. They were almost comical compared to the dark, powerful costume he was wearing. The only one that he had to compete against would be the Greenleaf, but Aragorn thought that he looked very much like a girl dressed up in that outfit, and that Aragorn was much more attractive than that.

Arwen was dressed much similarly to him, but instead of pants, she was wearing a rather short, bronze skirt, and had tall dark bronze boots that laced up past her thighs. Her dark hair had been braided around her head in a circlet, and in it, gold, and bronze had been braided into it. Her lips were a dark brown that had metallic flakes in it, and her eyes had been plastered with a shimmering gold-bronze eye shadow. Her blue-grey eyes were framed by heavy eyeliner, and thick, dark lashes. As well as Aragorn, she had a metal plate on her face, but on the opposite side.

Aragorn had to admit she wore the dark beauty well, and he knew that she would become popular with many of the male men of the Capitol. But, Aragorn was dressed up just as nicely as she was, and he knew that he would make a lasting impression as well.

They waited on their Chariot, unspeaking, as the Tributes from One were brought out into the crowds of the Capitol. Aragorn could hear screeches and screams, and he knew that he would have to compete with One to get the sponsors. Slowly, the horse began to walk forwards, and Aragorn and Arwen were shown to the crowd. Dressed as so, Aragorn did not wave, nor did he cast any glance to the screaming crowd around him.

Once, when he heard somebody in the crowd call his name, he looked over his shoulder and gave a dark smile, causing many of the girls to swoon and shriek at him, hands reaching out, like they had been for the boy from One, to try to catch him. Aragorn knew that he did not have to worry about sponsors. Dressed like this, nobody would forget him, and he would certainly be able to get at least somebody to sponsor him.

Though Frodo did not like the ocean much, he had to say that his costume did remind him much of home. His body was sprayed to be a deeper tan than what he had been before, and his hair was gelled up, his curls smoothed down to look sleek. Apart from the tan, there was really no makeup on his face, or his body, and he was dressed in a silver-blue pair of shorts that rippled like the ocean with every step that Frodo took.

Though he knew that the colour of the shorts did not reflect the blue-green of the ocean, he also knew that his stylist had never seen the ocean, and that metallic colours seemed to be very popular with the people of the Capitol at this moment. So, dressed in these silver-blue shorts he was, and, instead of a shirt, he was wearing a draping over his arms and his torso, with dark green shining strips of fabric that Frodo assumed was supposed to be seaweed. His shoes were mere sandals, and Frodo looked at them, expecting something much grander than what he had been given.

But, Frodo could not control what he was wearing, no matter how uncomfortable he felt with his body sprayed a tan, and the fact that most of his upper half was showing for all of Panem to see. Frodo had been allowed to wear his ring, and he twisted it, being very uncomfortable with what he was wearing, looking around at the other Tributes, and their much more modest costumes.

Frodo supposed it was an attempt to make him seem attractive, and to make himself a name, but Frodo did not see how showing off the fake tan, and the fake muscles his prep-team and stylist had put on him. He knew that the Capitol people would enjoy his exposed skin, and the fact that Frodo was only wearing shorts instead of long pants like most of the other male Tributes.

Lobelia was dressed in the same silver-blue fabric, and she had a net draped over the fabric. She looked much like Frodo, but she was much darker tanned than she was before, but, unlike Frodo, and most of the boys around, she wore heavy makeup on her face. Her eyelashes were bright silver, and a light blue-green had been smeared on her eyelids. A sliver eyeliner spread out over her eyelids, and fanned out, probably an attempt to look like they were fish tails. Her lips were a blue-silver as well, giving her face a rather cold look.

If Frodo could utter praise to Lobelia, he would have called her pretty, but nothing more than that. There were other girls here that looked much more than just pretty. He knew that in her cold demeanour, and the fact that she looked like she wanted to kill anybody who walked near her. Lobelia had not taken the fact that she would be wearing a dress very lightly, and the fact that her face was more like a mask instead of an actual face made her even angrier. Frodo was not going to enjoy being on the Chariot with her for at least half an hour.

He shuddered to himself as a cool breeze blew from an open window of the Remake Centre, and he cursed his stylist for making his costume so flimsy. Though it was summer, the night air was still cool, and being dressed in only a pair of shorts and a net with some fabric strung up on it made him seem much more colder than what he should have otherwise been. He could not bring his arms up to warm himself, for it would make him seem weak, and he was the Tribute from District Four. He could not let himself be considered weak by anybody else.

Frodo waited until Lobelia had stalked over in her shoes, which were much like Frodo's, except they had heals, instead of being just sandals. It looked as though she was having a hard time walking in them. Luckily for her, they would only have to stand on the Chariot, instead of walk, so she would not have to attempt her poor attempt at walking until she had to walk up to the chair for her Interview. She was grumbling under her breath as she then walked over to the Chariot.

Frodo got up with her as well, and he then took in a deep breath as he watched the Chariot from District Three go out to face the crowds. Frodo kept his eyes peeled on what was in front of him as the crowd's cheers grew louder as they came out. The costumes for Three must have been bad, for they seemed to enjoy the fact that Frodo was rather revealed, and they screamed louder as he then cast a glance to the people, and gave a tentative wave.

Frodo smiled warily, not really enjoying being in the spotlight. He much preferred being alone, reading a book somewhere than in front of large crowds. But, if he wanted to get out of these Games, he needed sponsors, and he wanted to win these Games. So, Frodo put it up with the publicity so he could get back to his home, and be able to read all of his books.

Gimli knew that his costume was a complete failure to get the attention of any possible sponsors. Since District Five was power, Gimli was wearing a bright yellow shirt that clashed horribly with his auburn hair, and was then wrapped in a multitude of power cords and shiny material. Underneath the cords, there was his District symbol; the nuclear sign, standing out as black on his bright yellow shirt. His pants were black as well, with bright yellow outlets on them, as well as many zippers. His shoes were bright yellow with black laces, but they only reached up to his ankle, so they were not much of a sight.

What irked Gimli the most about his costume was the makeup that was plastered on his face. He was wearing black lipstick, and yellow eyeliner had been applied precisely on his face. Cords were tangled in his hair in an attempt to bring more attention to him, but they just irritated Gimli greatly.

He took deep breaths, trying to calm himself as he thought about his father seeing him dressed up like a maniac. Being in this costume almost made Gimli not want to return to District Five; just so he could avoid the teasing back at home. He wondered how many people were going to laugh at him for wearing black lipstick and eyeliner. Makeup was for girls; that was really all Gimli understood about it, and that was all he wanted to understand about it, but now, he was becoming much more acquainted with it than he ever wanted to.

He was not allowed to take off any part of his costume before they had finished their round of City Circle, and Gimli had to use all of his mental strength to keep the costume on. The only thing that satisfied Gimli was the thought that after he was finished with his Chariot ride, he would be able to rip this costume to pieces. That brought a ghost of a smile to his face as he pictured the cords in his hair being ripped out. He hoped that it would not take any of his hair with him, as he brought his hand up and touched the wire yet again.

Why would anybody think being tangled up in wire was attractive? His bright yellow shirt was worse enough, as well as the outlets on his pants, but the stylist had to make it worse by adding the power cords. There was no way that he would be able to even convince the craziest of the Capitol people to sponsor him dressed like this. The people of the Capitol were shallow; they really only cared about beauty, money, and people's charm. Even if he scored high in his training, Gimli knew that he lacked both the beauty dressed as this, and that his interview would not be very good since he could not talk to people he did not like. There would be no way for him to get sponsors.

And, when he died in the Games because of something that a sponsor could have bought him, Gimli was certain that he would come back to haunt his stylist until they died as well. Though Gimli was not very superstitious, and in fact, he didn't really believe in ghosts, he would if the lack of sponsors was causing him to slowly erode away. But, he also hated the fact that these terrible costumes gave little Freya even less of chance than what she had before.

The youngest contender of the Games was sported a black dress, with the bright yellow nuclear sign on her chest. Like Gimli, she had many cords and metallic fabric wrapped around her and even braided through her hair. Since her dress was so dark, the cords were bright colours; orange, yellow and red. Her shoes were laced up sneakers like Gimli's, and were also a bright yellow.

Her makeup bothered Gimli as well. A child like her should have been dressed, trying to portray her innocence, but instead, she wore neon-yellow eye shadow, with orange eyeliner, and was dark lipped like Gimli. On her cheeks was a metallic powder, which made her cheeks look rather hollow; even more so than what she looked like before she had consumed some of the Capitol food.

She caught his gaze, and gave him a small smile. She was quivering much like a leaf would in the wind, and Gimli could tell that she did not like her costume much like he did not like hers. She then looked at him, and whispered, "Yellow doesn't look good with our hair."

"You are right," Gimli agreed, looking at her as she gave a frown. He could tell that her hopes had been failing ever since they had gotten on their Chariot. "But, just because we do not look good, does not mean that we have no hopes for a sponsor. Smile, be friendly. You're good at that."

Freya rewarded him with a small smile, before she slowly slipped her hand into his for a moment. Giving him a squeeze, she then said, "Thank you," before she released her hand, and then looked out in front of her, trying to focus on the crowd. He watched as she put on her most winning smile, and he could not help but smile as well, as they were brought towards the crowds.

Gimli heard a low groan spread through the crowd as they were shown; clearly their costumes were not going to be favourites, but Freya waved enthusiastically at them, and she must have charmed some of the Capitol people, for they began to cheer for the Tributes of Five. At this, more hope was brought into Gimli's chest, and he knew that he would have to thank Freya for getting them any sponsors that they could get.

Pippin fidgeted in his costume. He was dressed in a metallic outfit, presumably a train from the Capitol. The silver outfit was tight on his body, and it was rather uncomfortable. His boots, which were a metallic blue, had no laces, and went up to below his knees, and he had the colours of the train placed on the unitard that he was in. On his forehead were bright yellow goggles, probably symbolizing the lights on the train. His face had been painted silver, with blue streaks down his face. His hair had been left the same; the stylist most likely too lazy to even care about it.

He hated his costume, and wondered how his stylist even came up with it. He knew that the Capitol people were crazy, but as crazy as they were, there would be no way that anybody would find him attractive. Clearly his stylist didn't seem to realize how important the factor of making an impression to the crowds was to Pippin, for this outfit was a laugh. Pippin groaned to himself; wondering if his sisters, though sad that he would be in the Games, would laugh when they saw Pippin come out of the Remake Centre. Pippin surely would laugh if it wasn't him.

But, it was, and Pippin couldn't find anything humorous about being dressed up in a skin-tight outfit that looked like it was spray-painted on his body instead of put on. Pippin usually liked to make jokes, but there was nothing he could joke about here; this was an opportunity to get sponsors. This was an opportunity to get people to pay for food, medicine, or water for him in the Games, and his stylist had blown it. The only thing that Pippin could really feel was the hopelessness sink in deeper than it had before.

He was going to die in these Games; there was no way that he wasn't. Pippin wondered if it was even worth it that he would have to be dressed up like this. This costume was terrible; it looked as though a child designed it, and Pippin could tell that his designer had not taken much care for the Tributes that he designed for. It was almost as though the stylist was condemning Pippin to die, and Pippin hated his stylist for it. He felt as if his stylist was taking the fact that Pippin had been chosen to compete in these Games, and rub it in his face.

But, he had to comfort himself with one thing; a thing that made him feel rather guilty. Diamond's costume, though very similar to his, was much, much worse than Pippin's was. The girl had been forced into a shiny silver pencil-skirt that was chopped rather short. Her top only covered her breast, and then was open, showing her stomach. She had no sleeves, and a plunging neckline that showed off more of her chest than she would have otherwise done. Her blue boots laced almost up to her skirt, and were healed.

If her face had not been covered with silver face-paint, everybody would have seen the red blush that had burned her face. She looked as if she was going to cry, her silver painted lips quivering, and tears threatening to fall on her thickened, blue lashes. She also had goggles on her head, but they were not as distracting as Pippin's were, for the amount of skin that was shown trumped anything else.

She would not meet Pippin's eyes, though Pippin could see the dread that was filled in them, and he wanted to go over to her and comfort her. But, she was going to be a competitor in these Games as well, meaning that she was going to want to kill him, so Pippin could not afford to make any bonds with her. But, Pippin really didn't think that he was going to live through the first couple days of the Games, so he really didn't need to keep his distance.

Just as he was about to confront her, he then realized that they had to go onto the Chariot, and he knew that he only had a couple of seconds to talk to Diamond. He tried his hardest to say something, nothing came to his mind, and he was going to have to leave her alone as they were brought out for Panem to see.

Pippin could tell that tears were going to fall when he heard the wolf-whistles from the male members of the crowd. Though Pippin knew that his words were going to be on camera for most to see; he hoped that the shrieks of the Capitol people would keep them from being heard.

"Diamond, don't worry, just because our stylist's an idiot, doesn't mean that you are. You are sure to impress people with your interview. Don't worry about this, seriously," Pippin told her, and she then gave him a small smile. She held her head high, and ignored the cat-calls. Pippin had to admit, he was proud of her for doing so, and he then kept his head straight ahead like she was, and drowned everything else out with the thoughts of eating another one of the Capitol's meals.

Merry was wondering if he would get pushed out of the Chariot by Estella, though, then again, she would probably be yelled at and would lose any sponsors that she might have otherwise gotten. Merry looked down at his outfit again; knowing that he looked absolutely ridiculous. He was dressed like one of those stereotypical cowboys from the movies that his stylist must have watched.

Wearing a pin-striped blouse, along with suspenders holding up his faded, light-blue, ripped jeans, Merry knew that he looked like a fool. His boots were made of red leather, and they were shaped in the typical cowboy style. They even had a heal to them, and Merry thought that they looked more like girl's shoes than shoes a boy should be wearing. On his head, was a leather hat, and, Merry had dirt smeared on his face for a 'more authentic look' according to his idiot stylist. He was even forced to have a piece of straw dangling from his mouth. On a whole, this costume made Merry secretly plan his stylist's murder.

He thought about the fact that all of Panem was going to see him, and most of them were probably going to be laughing at him. This made Merry want to crawl up in a hole and die; he looked so bad compared from the Tributes of One and Two. He wished that he had their stylist, instead of some crazy old woman who looked like she was trying to be twenty. He did not know how people would even consider this costume attractive, if he, and most likely his stylist didn't even think that it was. He groaned to himself, as he looked out at the other Chariots being led out into the opening.

Apart from the Tributes from Six, where the boy Merry wanted to ally with was from, Merry knew that he looked the worst. Even the Tributes from Twelve had something shiny on them, making them considerably more attractive in the eyes of the people of the Capitol. Merry was just plan, and to the people of the Capitol, boring. For them, anything that sparkled was amusing. Merry, however, didn't sparkle, and he wasn't going to be one of the most popular of the Tributes.

But, then again, he could be dressed like a train like the boy from Six. Merry almost held back a chuckle when he first saw him arrive from the Remake Centre. Not only was Six's costume funny, his expression made it that much more hilarious. Lucky for the boy... **Peregrin! **Merry finally remembered again, most of the Tributes had been focused with their rather lame costumes as well.

Merry was envious of the Tributes from One and Two, looking much like gods as they walked around in their costumes that actually looked nice. He knew that they, clearly, were going to be the favourites of the Capitol. He knew that he couldn't really blame his stylist though, since his District did do something that was rather boring compared to what other Districts had to do. There was a lot of opportunity in designing for luxury or weapons than in designing the keepers of the Capitol's cattle.

Estella looked almost as silly as Merry did, except Merry knew that she looked worse. With her furious expression permanently resting on her face, she made her cowgirl look into something more like a mass murderer that had decided to dress up like an idiot. Her hair had been put into two separate braids, and she had makeup'ed freckles on her face, which were overly exaggerated so they looked more like moles than freckles. She, like Merry, wore a hat, but hers was made of straw instead of leather. Her boots went up to her knees, and were made with the same reddish leather.

But, unlike Merry, Estella had her shirt cut short just below her breast, showing off her stomach much like the Tribute from Six. The plaid material covered her arms though, and had a funny-looking collar that popped much too high up. Her shorts were cut enough to cover her butt, and that was it. The ends were ripped, and her body had been artificially tanned to make her seem more attractive. It was all of these reasons that made Estella angry beyond anything Merry had seen before.

He knew that he was going to be pushed out of the Chariot; Estella would never pass up a chance to let all of her anger out so easily. Having Merry trampled by the horses from Eleven and Twelve would certainly please Estella greatly, and leave Merry in a condition much worse than he was before. Then, he'd certainly die in the Games, thus pleasing Estella more. Merry shuddered at the thought of being crushed, and the thought that since Estella couldn't get out her anger now, she would most likely want to kill him during the Games.

With these pleasant thoughts swirling around his head, Merry decided that he would be rather thinking about the terrible thing at hand. He took in a deep breath, trying to calm himself, as he tried to put on his smile. But, smiling for Merry was rare. He had hardly a thing to smile about in District Ten, and only a couple people have ever seen Merry smile. It only appeared when he was truly happy, and that was something that he couldn't have felt in this costume, in this circumstance, in a thousand years.

But, he would have to, or else there would be no way that his costume would impress anybody. He forced a smile on his face just before they were revealed to the waiting crowd of Panem. Surprisingly, some people of Panem screamed at their arrival. How anybody found him attractive, Merry didn't know, but he was grateful for the crazy people who did, and he smiled at them; it wasn't his happy smile, it was his relieved one. He was relieved; relieved that he had a chance at sponsors, that he had a chance in the Games.

There was nothing that could take that relief from him at this moment; not even Estella.

**It could have been worse; **Samwise admitted as he looked at his costume**, I could have been dressed like a stalk of corn. ** Sam was lucky enough to look at least semi-decent when he was going to go out into the crowds of Panem. He had a wreath of grasses circling his head, with some precious metals in them as well; it was the Capitol after all, plain wouldn't due. He had grasses painted on his face with metallic face paint, circling around his eyes, and claiming his cheeks. His shirt was a shining pale green; that, when rustled in the wind, looked like grass rolling around in a field. His paints were brown, probably symbolizing the earth, but there was silver lines drawn down them, and Sam assumed that they were the roots of the plants on his shirt. His shoes were the same silver, but they would be hidden by the Chariot.

Though simple, Sam knew that his outfit was fitting for what he was supposed to represent. He certainly reflected District Eleven, and it almost made him sad when he thought of how he would most likely never return to his beloved home. He thought about all of the people there; wondering if some of them were going to be cheering him on as he went through these tasks. Most of them would regard him as dead; nothing more than a corpse walking into its grave, while some of them, like his friends and his family, would be praying, and hoping that he wouldn't be killed.

He looked at the task at hand; catching the attention of the sponsors, which could lead to gifts in the arena that could save Sam's life. Thinking of things that could give him sponsors, Sam realized he had very little chance in getting them. Most people would enjoy an odd personality, perhaps a person that was mysterious, or ruthless, or funny. Sam was nothing like that. He was down-to-heart, and was called the kindest person to walk the earth by some of his friends. Even in circumstances, where Sam should be feeling nothing but bitterness and hate towards his fellow Tributes, all he could truly feel was pity. Though Sam hated being pitied himself; Sam could not help but feel it towards all of the Tributes, especially Rosie.

His District partner was dressed like him, but in a fashion that was much more girly, and in a different colour. She wore a soft yellow, like the occasional flowers that would crop up around District Eleven during the summer time. Sam was vaguely reminded of the snapdragons that would grow by his house during early summer. Her dress was modest, which was surprising for something of the Capitol, and it flowed past her thighs, resting above her knees. Gold had been weaved into the material in long lines, looking like the dried, long tresses of grass in the fields. Like Sam, she had a wreath of grasses around her dark hair, but these stood up much better than Sam's did. Gold replaced the green Sam had, and her metallic face paint stood out much better than his did. On her feet were just simple sandals.

Sam thought that she looked much better than he did, and was sure that Rosie was going to make much more of an impression on the crowds than he was. Her dark eyes shone with determination, and Sam could not help but think that she was incredibly beautiful; dressed in her costume and not. From what he had heard about Rosie, she was very popular in the school, and had very many friends. Being very charismatic, Rosie was bound to draw people to like her, and to sponsor her. Sam was almost jealous of her, but if he wasn't going to win (and sadly, he thought that was most likely to happen) he would like to have Rosie win these Games.

She turned to Sam, and gave him a small smile; her teeth looked much brighter than they had before, and Sam assumed that the stylist had made them much whiter to make Rosie's smile better. They had done the same for Sam, and he would not be surprised if they did so to all of the Tributes there. In the Capitol, beauty was favoured above most else, and he knew that having white teeth would be something expected of all people; even if it was probably one of the lowest things on the list for most of the Districts.

She nodded to Sam as they both got up on the Chariot, before she looked ahead of herself, and blew out a shaky breath. "I hope they like us," she admitted to Sam.

Sam was shocked that she was talking to him, but he gave her a small smile, and said, "Well, they'll surely like you... you look amazing."

A red had appeared on Sam's cheeks, and Rosie smiled at him once again, before they were revealed to all of Panem. Sam managed to compose himself before they were revealed, and he then took in a deep breath. A smile was on his face, but if anybody looked closely at Sam, and at most of the other Tributes, they would have realized that their smiles were empty, and almost meaningless. But, the Capitol people were rather ignorant to anything but their own amusement, and the fact that Samwise and Rosie looked rather nice in their costumes.

The cheers were a reassurance, really, to Sam, though he knew that most of them were for his District partner who looked much more attractive than Sam certainly did, and was far more charismatic. Rosie waved and blew kisses out into the crowd, but that determined glint in her eye told same one thing; Rosie was not going to be counted out of these Games no matter what. Sam grinned at this, truly smiling for the crowd, and then continued to look on straight ahead of him, waiting for when this was finally going to be over.

The Tribute of District Twelve, Boromir Stewart, had to admit that his costume was much better than what he was expecting. Most times, the Tributes from District twelve were dressed up like foolish coal miners; usually ending up in skimpy outfits and hats with headlamps. Boromir, however, was wearing a shirt made of black fabric, made of the softest silk that could possibly be. His pants were black as well as were his boots, which laced up to his shins. His face had dark, dramatic makeup on it in an attempt to look anything but boring, for what Boromir was supposed to represent was a lump of coal.

Though Boromir knew that coal generally was not as shiny as he was, and usually it was on fire whenever he saw it, he had to admit he enjoyed his costume to an extent. Unlike some of the other Tributes, his costume was rather simple, and in a way, Boromir thought it was elegant, even though he despised wearing the dark eye shadow, the purplish blush, and the eyeliner. He enjoyed the fact that it made his grey eyes piercing, and he considered that it made him look much more fierce than he was before.

Hopefully, it would make him seem like at least a worthy contender in the Games, and it would make him seem likable to the rest of the people in the Capitol. He looked around the emptying opening of the Remake Centre at all of the other Tributes. The bright costumes from Five were sure to grab attention, but they were nothing more than just bright; Boromir thought the makeup on their face clashed horribly with both of their hair colours, but he was not a stylist, so he might have been wrong. The extravagant costumes of One and Two were rather attractive, Boromir considered, and if he found it nice-looking, then so would the majority of the Capitol.

He knew that he had competition in looking nice for the Chariot rides, and he knew that the Tributes who looked the best were from the Career Districts, who were rather strong, and, in a way, intimidating, but Boromir knew that just looking nice would not help people in the arena. He grinned to himself; when people found out who could survive and who couldn't, Boromir would be able to show that he could make the Games.

After the first day, the sponsors' options would get cut down after the initial blood-bath, by how much, Boromir would not know, but still they would. Though Boromir planned on getting some items from the Cornucopia, he did not plan on dying doing so. **But, **he reckoned to himself, **none of the Tributes who died there probably did. **Boromir knew that he was smart enough to know that he shouldn't go into the centre of the Cornucopia where the Careers and other, foolish Tributes would be fighting out for the good weapons and food.

If Boromir got a knife in his possession, he knew that he would be better off than other Tributes; just a knife. But, he knew that there would most likely not be a knife in the outer circles of the Cornucopia, so he would have to hope that there would be one, and that he could get something useful from the Cornucopia. If he did, he wouldn't need the sponsors, though he would most likely receive them if they found that he was actually capable of doing things.

He did not, however, feel like he could face the thousands upon thousands of people in the Capitol that were already cheering for the Districts who had passed. He was not a people person. Though Boromir considered himself just and kind, he could not easily convey that to people he didn't know without speaking. According to Faramir, Boromir could convince people to do anything just by speaking, but since all Boromir was going to do was force a smile on his face, and perhaps wave at the crowd (though he highly doubted that), he could not do so.

Ioreth, however, was quietly standing beside Boromir, wearing black shining leggings and a skirt instead of pants but otherwise looking much like Boromir. Her hair had been curled in large, shining curls, and the stylist had put on black lipstick on her lips, which Boromir refused to wear and was luckily not forced to like the boy from Five had been. The dark makeup did not suit the happy girl Boromir once knew, but ever since she had been in the Games, Ioreth was quiet, and she only spoke when she needed to.

Boromir knew that Ioreth was not angry with him for his comment on the train, but she had not said anything to tell him so. Just the fact that she met eye contact with him made Boromir know that she regretted her outburst. Though quiet, Ioreth seemed to have drawn some strength from deep inside her, and used it to put a stony mask on. Boromir knew that it was going to have to break as they stepped up on their Chariot, and readied themselves for the crowds.

Boromir was surprised when Ioreth put on a smile. It was a soft, smile; one that a mother would wear as they looked upon their newborn child. Boromir found it rather captivating, especially since Ioreth was dressed in such a dark manner. Boromir supposed it was her way to put a little bit of herself in the costume than to have her personality completely masked.

Boromir allowed himself a small smile as he was revealed to the crowd, thinking of Faramir and how Boromir knew the boy would be watching. The small smile stayed on his face until he was finally free of the cameras and in the bowls of the Training Centre.

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><p><strong><span>Thanks to Xelfi4ever, and butterflyninja935 for reviewing! Thanks to K9olaquia for favouriting and subscribing... about a minute ago! hahha. <span>**

**About the Remake and Training /Centre/: I know that CENTRE is not spelt like that in the book, but I didn't want a squiggly red line telling me that I was spelling it wrong, because I am Canadian, thus I spell things Canadian-y. Suzanne Collins, however, was American, so she spelt the word center like so. To me... that looks wrong... DX. **

**Okay, I know this is really stupid, but I was so proud of myself when I spelt Cornucopia right the first time I tried. I did a little happy dance. Well, for all you know, I could be lying and spell-check really spelt it, but I'm not. XD Anyways, I have a question; whose costume did you like the most? (The female counterparts included). They don't have to be the prettiest, it could be the one you found the most amusing, or the one you found the coolest. How about to make it easier for you, it can be the top three! **


	5. Training, and Scores

_**~One Game to rule them all,  
><strong>__**One Game to find them,  
><strong>__**One Game to bring them all,  
><strong>__**And may the odds be ever in your favour.~**_

* * *

><p>Samwise looked at the knife that he had in his hand, and then, shakily, threw it at the target, like his trainer had instructed him to do so. Luckily for him, it hit the human shaped target, though not in a place that would have killed his opponent immediately. But, Sam was reassured that he wouldn't be called a weakling when his instructor assured him that where he hit the target would have caused his 'opponent' to bleed to death eventually. Sam was unsure of whether to be proud of this information, or if he should have been terrified with the knowledge that he could actually kill somebody.<p>

Sam knew that these sort of thoughts; thoughts of fear of death and fear of killing, where unacceptable in his situation. He was to be thrown in an arena where he was forced to kill people if he wanted to make it out alive. He looked at the other knives in his belt, and then threw them at the target; trying to not think of the fact that he was could cut people down, and cause them to die with the knives he was holding in his hand.

Sam did not want to become a murderer, and he thought of all of the other Victors. He knew that they were scarred by what they have seen. No Victor ever went into the Games and made it out the same. All of them had something ailing them, apart from the Victors of One, Two and Four; it was just a simple Game for them, not a deadly one. The Victors from One, Two and Four usually were proud of what they had done; to win the Games was something that most of the children of those Districts dreamed of. Sam could not understand why they were so determined to do so; he was wishing that there was somebody else in his place, like most of the other Tributes were.

After he threw the rest of his knives, only hitting the target in an instantly fatal place once, Sam decided that he was to find some more useful information and went to the wild plant station. Though the Game Makers tried their hardest to keep the arena a secret, there were always hints of what it was going to be in the wild plant station, and Sam knew that it would give him an advantage if he went over there. While most of the Careers chose to ignore the wild plant station, and anything that would make them seem weak, Sam knew that this would be leverage that he would have over them.

Sam cast a look over his shoulder, looking at the Head Game Maker, a man of the name of Saruman, who had been around for as long as the President had been. It was said that Saruman, and the President, Sauron, had been friends growing up, though it was never confirmed. Sam looked away from the Game Makers, and then back at the wild plant station.

Surprisingly, there were a lot of people there, well, a lot for a small station like this. Sam recognized Rosie, the girl from his District, and she gave him a small smile. She was beside a girl, who must have been from Twelve, seeing as she had grey eyes and black hair. Sam didn't catch the girl's name, as he returned Rosie's smile, and then began to work on the plants. It was easy, and Sam realized that there must be a field that was going to be placed in his arena, seeing as most of the plants were grasses and grains that Sam recognized.

He heard the girl from Twelve list off most of the plants that Sam did not recognize, and he tried to remember what District Twelve was like. He knew that it was surrounded by forests, and Sam wondered what the arena was possibly going to be. Perhaps they had decided to mix in useful plants, which would certainly be in the arena, with ones that were not going to be in the arena. Sam frowned; the little leverage he would have been gaining had been falling greatly. Sam frowned to himself, before he then left the station, and went to the archery.

The boy from One was there as well, shooting an accurate bulls-eye with ever shot, occasionally shooting with such force that it went through the arrow that was already there, to reach the target. Sam decided that he was not going to make himself look terrible to the Game Makers compared to the boy, who Sam personally thought looked much like a girl, but he would never voice that opinion. Instead Sam circled back to the knives station, and decided that he would be better off learning how to use one weapon consistently instead of just using multiple weapons not very well.

Sam soon realized that knives were much easier to use than he thought they would be, though he knew that if he wanted to get any better he would have to practice a lot more. Soon, a grim smile of determination was set on his face as Sam spent the rest of the morning using his knives, before lunch was called.

Though Sam did not want to eat with anybody, a boy that was from Four flocked over to him. Sam looked at the boy for a moment, before he began to eat his bread in silence. The boy from Four looked at Sam for a moment, and then said, "Hello, I'm Frodo, it is nice to meet you."

Sam wondered if that was going to be translated to, _**'Hello, I'm Frodo, I'll kill you in the Games.'**_ Though Sam did not reply, the boy sat down with him, and began to eat with Sam. Sam looked up at the boy, and then frowned. He wasn't sure what was going to happen with the boy, but if he wasn't going to be eating with the Careers, then he could make a rather decent ally, even though it would be a dangerous one.

Eventually, Sam had warmed up during the lunch hour, and introduced himself. That was where the conversation stopped, but during the rest of the training days, Sam, and the boy, Frodo had become fast acquaintances, and had decided that they would team up during the Games.

Finally, the training days had ended, and Sam knew that he would be going to have to make a good impression on the Game Makers if he wanted to have a good score in training. Though high scores often put targets on people's backs, Sam knew that if he wanted any sponsors, he would be going to have to get a good score. Sam watched and waited as most of the Tributes were called over to their own private evaluations, and then, as it was his turn.

He got up, and gave Rosie, and the two from District Twelve, a small smile, before he entered the training room. It was strange to see it so empty; where there were no trainers, nor were there any other Tributes showing off their skills. Sam took in a deep breath, before he walked over to the knife station and began to show what he could do with a knife. After getting many nods from the Game Makers, Sam was finally dismissed, and he hoped that he had gotten a score that was at least better than a two.

Though Frodo really did not need much training with his short sword, he still practiced as much as he could with it. He was doing this practice, however, half-heartedly, as he looked around the arena for somebody decent enough to be his ally. All of the Careers were excelling at the stations they were on; the boy from Two was rather skilled with his sword as he accidentally sliced the dummy into two pieces. But Frodo knew that he could not afford to have one of those Careers as his ally; they would sooner slice him to pieces that he could slice their throats in the night.

No, allying with a Career would be like dancing with fire; dangerous, and eventually, one of them would have to win. Frodo knew that it would most likely not be him, and he decided to stay clear of them. He could not help but feel like he should be watching them though, even if he would not be considering them as his ally. Careers were often over confident, and felt no need to hide their skills from the other Tributes, instead, they showed them off as if to intimidate them. Though the Tributes from the lesser Districts were most likely scared of them, Frodo was not.

Frodo was using this over confidence to analyze his fellow Tributes, and see if they would be somewhat troublesome. The boy from Two was skilled with the sword, and was capable of using the bow to an extent; though not as good as the boy from One was. The boy from One could most likely kill anybody with his bow; seeing as he could shoot a perfect bulls-eye from half way across the Training Centre. But he seemed incompetent in anything else; hand to hand fighting was something he was seemingly no good at. Lobelia was skilled with the trident and the spear, but Frodo knew that she would be. The girl from Two seemed to be hiding her abilities, and instead, was at the wild plant station. The girl from One was rather good with her knives, but not as good as she could have been.

It was looking at the girl from One when Frodo noticed the boy with the knives. He did not know what District the boy was from at first, but he soon remembered that he was from Eleven. It was strange to see a boy from Eleven that was not dark of skin, with black hair and dark brown eyes. No, this boy was strawberry blond, though he skill had brown eyes, though they were much lighter than the usual brown from his District. But, aside from that, there was something that was also strange.

The boy could actually throw his knives with accuracy. Most boys from other Districts could not use weapons, as proved by the boy from Seven, who had dropped his sword as soon as his sparring partner had pared back with him. Frodo watched the boy for a little longer, before he decided to get a closer look at what he was doing. Standing beside him, Frodo threw knives easily, though he was not paying much attention to his target, nor the instructor. This boy had a good grip on the knives, and was throwing them with force. Though his aim was not as good as it could have been, Frodo knew that this boy had potential.

Though Frodo had moved to find out more information about the boy, he watched helplessly as the boy from Eleven went over to the wild plant station. Frodo threw more knives, paying attention to the targets, before his eyes wandered back to the boy. The boy seemed to have a good knowledge of plants as well. This was when Frodo knew that he should have this boy as his ally.

The boy wasn't incredibly strong, but he was decent enough to help Frodo make it far in the Games, and not as good as Frodo was. This was important to Frodo's plan; he needed to be better than the boy was to be able to betray him when he needed to kill the boy. Frodo grinned to himself, he had found the perfect ally for his plan; now all he needed to do was convince the boy to be his ally.

Frodo was glad when the boy returned to the knife station, and he continued to watch the boy improve in his strength and aim with the knife. Frodo smiled as he watched to boy throw a perfect shot. His plan was falling perfectly, and with it, there was no way that he was possibly going to lose these Games. He twisted the Ring on his finger before he threw another knife. Frodo was clearly distracted with what was to come instead of what was at hand.

He knew that this was going to be marked badly on his score sheet, but Frodo knew that they did not consider intelligence as something to get people farther in the Games, when in reality, most people who won the Games were the smarter people that were reaped. Frodo knew that there was no way just strength could get anybody anywhere. Though the rest of the Career Tributes would have their supplies, they were not resourceful, and they would soon die without them. One slip up, and their chance of winning would be gone.

Frodo smiled again to himself as lunch began. Though it seemed as though the boy did not want any company, Frodo sat down across from him. "Hello, I'm Frodo, it is nice to meet you."

The boy did not respond, but Frodo knew that eventually he would. Finally, the boy cracked, and then said, "I'm Samwise...call me Sam."

There was no further conversation during that lunch, just two of them sitting there, eating their food in silence. But Frodo knew that he had succeeded in the first step of his plan; getting the boy, Sam, to consider him as a possible ally. As the days went by, Frodo knew that he had gotten Sam to be his ally, and he was quite proud of himself for doing so. From what Frodo knew of Sam, the boy was reserved, humble, and very wary of most things he didn't know.

Now, Frodo waited for his turn to shine as the Game Makers evaluated him. He was half hearted as he got a person to spar against, even though he ended up succeeding in taking away the sword of the trained Capitol person. Frodo then threw some knives, and was then dismissed. He was too distracted by everything else that was going on with the Games than something that hardly mattered to him.

He was smug as he went up the elevator, knowing that even if he hadn't made a good impression on the Game Makers, he certainly had left a good impression on Samwise Gamgee.

Gimli was bored out of his mind in the Training Centre. Though he found that he was quite skilled with the axe, and that he could, actually, throw the axe and get most of his throws on a deadly place on the target, it was not something that he just wanted to repetitively do as he trained. He had moved around the Training Centre, watching the other Tributes, most of them looking half-starved like he did, even with the Capitol food. Some of them stayed in one station, like the Careers, who just proceeded to show off how decent they were with their weapon of choice, ensuring that the Game Makers put at least one of them in the Games. Others wandered, most of them looking lost as they tried to fight with a sword or throw a knife properly.

Gimli wandered over to the wild plant station, seeing as it might be useful in sense of eating in the arena, and he spent a long time there, just learning about the plants. It bored him greatly, but he knew that it would be useful for him to have in the arena. He noticed that many other Tributes were also doing the same thing as he was, looking at the girls from Eleven and Twelve, who seemed to have become allies. Then there was Freya, who was sitting by herself, identifying plants with ease.

It seemed as though this twelve-year-old had a good memory, for she only looked at the plant once before she said what it was, while Gimli spent at least two minutes looking at the plant, and most often got the name of the plant wrong. Gimli knew that he was probably going to wither away and starve to death if he didn't pay attention, but all he could watch was Freya identify the plants in a blink of her eye. _**So, **_Gimli thought to himself as he wrongly identified yet another plant, _**Perhaps I shouldn't have to worry about Freya in these Games... she seems to be doing fine on her own. **_

Gimli had finished with his plants; annoyed that no matter what he tried to do, they wouldn't stay in his mind, and he then went on to the rope tying station. If he couldn't identify plants, he may as well learn to tie up snares in hopes of catching something that he could eat. After Gimli remembered a rather basic snare, he began to learn how to tie up a trap that would leave his opponent dangling by one foot from a tree. After spending an hour mastering that one, Gimli knew that he was at least good at one thing.

Lunch was called, and Gimli then began to eat his food, looking around at the other Tributes. The girls from Eleven and Twelve were eating together, discussing things in low voices, proving Gimli's thought of the fact that they were allies. Most of the other Tributes were eating alone, like Gimli was. He watched as the boy from Four walked over to the boy from a District that Gimli couldn't remember. Seven, he thought, though he wasn't quite sure. Then there were the Careers; the boy from One, and the girls from One, Two, and Four. It was odd to see the other two boys that were usually in that alliance being off and about; the boy from Four being with the other, boy who was currently District-less to Gimli, and the boy from Two eating alone, watching them all with careful eyes.

It was here that Gimli looked at the Tributes to watch out for. There was the broad boy from Twelve, who seemed to be quite, and looked like he was thinking of something while he chewed on his apple. Gimli could tell by the way that he looked off into the distance as he chewed. He wondered if this boy had a family he left behind, and if he was thinking about them. Gimli was then reminded of his father, who would be alone after Gimli died in these Games, who would be desperately cheering Gimli on as he fought in the arena.

Gimli shook these thoughts out of his head, as he looked at the other, scrawny Tributes who seemed to be at lost for what to do. Most of them ate silently, looking around the Training Centre, probably thinking about how this was to be one of their last days on this earth. That was when the two boys, from Six and Ten, Gimli remembered, talking in hushed voices, right near Gimli. It was strange to Gimli to see so many alliances in these Games; with the girls from Twelve and Eleven, the District-less boy and Four, the Careers, and now, the boys from Six and Ten.

He sighed to himself; there was no way that he would allow himself to fall into one of these alliances. Gimli didn't want to have to betray somebody just so he could live another day. No, Gimli would do this alone, and then he wouldn't have to worry about anything else. If he was to make it out of these Games, he did not want to do so by killing a person that had trusted him with their life. Gimli would not be responsible for anybody else but himself in these Games, and that was how Gimli wanted it to be.

He groaned to himself, as he stood up, and began to practice his axe throwing and chopping again. He gave a little sigh when he realized that most of the Tributes here would probably think that he would be from District Seven, where they did lumber, instead of his home from District Five. Gimli remembered Seven's most recent Victor; a boy with the name of Haldir, who had been able to throw his axe thirty metres and still hit his target in a deadly place. That had been five years ago, and Gimli remembered that Haldir had killed both of the Tributes from District Five that year. He decided to stick with his axe training, ignoring the thought of Haldir and the Tributes from Seven, who were actually both using axes as well.

Gimli wandered the Training Centre for the rest of his days during Training, and he had little idea of what he was to do for his one-on-one evaluation. In the end, Gimli spent most of his time throwing his axe, and tying traps for the volunteers to wander into. In the end, Gimli received nods from most of the Game Makers, and even a little approving smile from the Head Game Maker, Saruman, whose attention was then stolen by Lurtz and Grima, other Game Makers.

Gimli was then dismissed, and he sighed to himself as he took the ride up the elevator. Though he thought he had done well, all he could think of were the Career Tributes and the fact that they would probably outshine him without battering an eyelash; or in the case of the rather girly-looking Tribute from One, battering many eyelashes in an attempt to look pretty. Gimli groaned, before he then realized that Pretty-Boy probably was going to get a high score, and become something that the Capitol people would most likely sponsor. Gimli then wondered if it was even necessary for him to even try to get sponsors if the girls from One would capture them all.

Boromir had to admit that he was impressed with the Training Centre. He had heard about it from the commentators of the Games, but he had never seen it himself for they never did show any of the Tributes training. They were vast, with many ropes to climb up, and many different stations to choose from. At first, Boromir was wary of picking stations that had weapons in them; not wanting to look like he was rather incompetent compared to the Career Tributes, who walked into the Training Centre, and picked up the most deadly weapons, and used them like they were nothing but children's toys.

Boromir stuck to the camouflage, the ropes and the wild plants station for the majority of the morning, before he decided that he would attempt to pick up a sword. He looked down at the weapon in his hand, and then at the target that he was supposed to be hacking into pieces. The instructor showed him how to grip the sword properly, and how to do the basic strokes. That was when Boromir had to actually attempt to do something.

Though Boromir knew he probably should not have been doing so, he pretended that the target was that of a real person, and that his objective was to kill this person. But, without the target wanting to kill him back, Boromir could not conjure up enough malice, and in the end, he knew that he was not fighting to his full potential as he managed to get his sword into the dummy, and caused a huge rip to form on the side. His instructor applauded him, before it was time for Boromir to get some lunch.

Boromir disliked the fact that though the room was rather full, there were no people talking at all. Some people talked in hush whispers, but it all seemed much to quiet. Boromir used this time to notice that Ioreth had partnered up with the girl from Eleven. Boromir remembered the dark skinned, dark-haired girl from the parade, for her costume had been one of the better ones, and she seemed to enjoy being in front of people; unlike the rest of the Tributes who stood there awkwardly, hoping for the parade to end. Boromir knew that he had been one of those Tributes, and he knew that he was rather forgettable compared to the rest of the Tributes, but Boromir still knew that he had a chance in these Games.

The fact that he was actually able to wield a sword and the fact that he could actually identify some plants made this chance grow. Boromir then realized that ripping a stuffed dummy would not be the same as using his sword to cut open people, but he ignored that thought as he looked down at the bread in the basket. He looked at the drop biscuits that he knew were from District Twelve, and he wondered what Faramir was possibly eating now.

Certainly not the biscuits; they never were able to afford them, and now that Boromir was gone, they never would be able to. They might have, if Boromir had been lucky enough to escape the Games and work in the mines. With his father's, and his pay, they may have been able to scrape enough money together to buy those biscuits on occasion. Perhaps it would be for Faramir's birthday, or the fact that Faramir had made it through another Reaping without being drawn for his death. Boromir's thoughts of a future he would never have spiralled off; captivating him, beckoning him over to them.

But, Boromir needed to ignore the thoughts of the future that would never come, for he would have to face the task at hand if he wanted a future at all. Boromir refused to eat the biscuits from home, instead, he ate the crescent rolls, sprinkled with seeds, which Boromir overheard the girl from Eleven say were from her home. Boromir finished eating the rolls, and then listened in on Ioreth and the girl from Eleven's conversation. He did not catch much apart from a few hushed whispers, and the girl from Eleven's name; Rosie.

Boromir looked around at the Tributes in these Games, and he wondered what it would be like if they had not been drawn for these Games. How much longer would they have lived? The girl from Five, who was twelve years old, and the boy from Six, who was only thirteen or fourteen, Boromir guessed, would have likely lived much longer if they had not been drawn for these Games. But, that was only an assumption on whether they would have enough to eat, or if sickness came and robbed them of their life.

He wondered about the futures that all of these children were leaving behind; wondering about what they could have been if it was not for these Games. Suddenly, Boromir felt a deep hate for the Capitol. They were robbing these children, himself included, of the opportunity of a future; they were taking away their lives when they most certainly did not deserve for their lives to be taken away. He thought of Faramir, and wondered if any of the other Tributes were leaving behind family. Perhaps they, too, had siblings that they loved and cared for.

Boromir shook his head as they were then called to train some more. Boromir took up his sword again, and then asked for a person to spar against. He slashed swords with the man for a while, before they were both exhausted, and Boromir decided to take a break. After being complemented on his fighting, Boromir left the station, and returned to the camouflage station. He looked at the mud and reeds that he was supposed to use to make his arm look like, and then at the material he had at hand. He was not good with painting and he never had been; that was Faramir's skill, not his. All Boromir had was strength, and Boromir knew that it would be handy in these Games.

The days went by slowly for Boromir, and as he was about to go into his final evaluation, he looked at Ioreth, who was sitting, looking at anything apart from him. Boromir sighed to himself, before he then walked into the room. He asked for a person to spar against, and they went on until Boromir managed to disarm the man. With nothing else to do, Boromir was then dismissed, and he rode the elevator up to the top floor, wondering what was to come, and what his stylist was possibly going to do with him for his interview.

Pippin found that the time in the Training Centre was far more entertaining than anything he would have otherwise done. What he would have done would have most likely consisted of him sitting there eating the lavish Capitol food, which would most likely end up with him as fat as the sofa he would be sitting on. This, however, was something that he could do to help him survive much longer in the Games.

Pippin spent most of his time learning how to tie knots, and in the camouflage station. He figured if he could stay hidden in these Games, he'd last longer. He knew that the chances of him lasting anything were slim, so he figured that there would be no way that he would stick around at the Cornucopia, unless, of course, he was to stand there, holding a flag over his head that read; '_**I'm stupid, please rid me from the world!' **_

No, Pippin would book it out of there as fast as he possibly could, and then would attempt to camouflage himself with some bark or grass or mud or whatever was available. He also considered just climbing up a tree and hoping that he would never be caught. He would just eat the bark of the tree (though it would probably not taste as good as other stuff could) and then he'd never have to leave it.

But Pippin knew that it would most likely not be so, as he looked around the Training Centre; most of the other Tributes here would kill him if they even saw him up in the tree. The boy from One certainly could just shoot an arrow through his throat within seconds, and then he would be nothing but dead. He groaned to himself, as he realized that he would probably have to move, and stay hidden; which was probably the only strategy that he could ever pull off.

Pippin then decided that it would probably be good for him to at least learn how to kill people if the time ever came, which, though he knew that he might have to in the Games, he hoped would never come. Pippin got out of the camouflage station, and then went to the slingshot. He laughed a little to himself'; out of all of the dangerous and scary weapons here, he was attracted to the most childish, and most likely useless (in his situation) one here. He sighed to himself, and then began to fling some rocks at the targets.

He wasn't half bad; he reckoned to himself as shot another target in the head. He found that he was rather enjoying his time in the slingshot station, and he picked a couple more rocks and shot them at the targets. For some reason, Pippin had a small smile on his face as he did this; it wasn't one of determination, like the Career Tributes who were always looking around, sizing up their opponents; it was one of pure enjoyment. Pippin rarely felt this, but he knew that he would never feel it ever again, as he continued to shoot his targets.

When he was at the station, another Tribute wandered over to use it as well. Pippin hadn't expected that; since it wasn't exactly the most popular station out there. Pippin glanced briefly over his shoulder before he shot another rock. He recognized it as the boy from Ten; the one who was dressed like a cowboy during the parade. Pippin had laughed at the boy's costume as he watched the reruns; the straw in his mouth was just too hilarious, as was the glint in his eyes that promised a slow death to his stylist (one that Pippin had shared as well). The boy picked up a slingshot, and began shooting at targets; both of them silent as they did so.

Finally, Pippin had decided that the silence was too uncomfortable, and after he shot a rock, he said, "Well, hello there, Cowboy," a small teasing grin on his face. The boy turned to look at him, and then saw Pippin's smile. He looked puzzled at the boy, but Pippin noticed that the boy had a hopeful glint in his eyes.

"Well, hello there, Goggles-boy," He replied, and then Pippin gave the boy another brighter grin. The Cowboy couldn't have been more than two years older than he was; though Pippin knew for sure that the boy was certainly older than he was. They both shot some more rocks at their targets; avoiding eye contact, but both of them casting small glances at the smiles on their faces.

Eventually, Pippin then shot a rock at the target that the Cowboy was supposed to be hitting, earning him a small glare, and then a smile. They didn't say much, but when they were called to lunch, they both decided to sit next to each other. They didn't speak much at first, but Pippin could tell that he really enjoyed the company of the boy,

"So, Cowboy, what is your name?" Pippin said to the boy, after he took a piece of bread and ripped it in two. He ate one half of it while the boy looked at him for a moment, as if accessing if he would allow Pippin this information. He reached over and took his own loaf of bread, and then began to butter it with the high-class Capitol butter. Little did Pippin know, but this butter had come from the boy's District.

"I'm Meriadoc Brandybuck, from Ten," He told him, before Pippin raised his eyebrows at the boy. He didn't want to be calling him Meriadoc the whole time, hopefully he had a nickname, otherwise, Pippin was going to have to make one up for him. The boy seemed to notice Pippin's raised eyebrows, and he gave a small laugh before he then said, "Most people call me Merry."

"That's better than what I thought I was going to have to call you!" Pippin exclaimed in a whisper, not wanting to draw any attention towards him and Merry. Pippin cast a glance over his shoulder, and noticed that the boy from Twelve was looking at them both for a brief second, before he turned away; whether it be because he caught Pippin's eye, or he had just gotten bored. Pippin wondered what had interested the boy to look at them in the first place, but he then remembered that he had not introduced himself yet. "I'm Peregrin Took, from Six, but most people call me Pippin."

"So, allies then?" Merry said, a small smile still on his face. He reached his hand over the table, and Pippin shook it.

"Allies," Pippin agreed, before they were then told to continue with their training. Immediately, Pippin and Merry went for the slingshot section of the Training Centre. They both had plans for the Games swirling around in their heads, and a smile of relief that they had finally found a friend in these Games.

The days went by much faster than what Pippin assumed that they were going to take, and he knew that he would finally have to show the Game Makers what he was going to do. He groaned to himself; they would never truly appreciate the fact that Pippin could nail any one of them in the head with a rock and slingshot. He knew that he wouldn't get a very high score as he went in, and shot some targets. After he had finished, the Game Makers looked at him for a couple moments, as if wondering if he was going to do anything else, before they dismissed him.

Pippin knew that his score was going to be terrible; probably a high three or maybe even a four, but he didn't really care, as he was whisked up to the sixth floor of the Training Centre. In the back of his mind, Pippin then wondered how Merry had done.

Merry was on a mission in the Training Centre, and it wasn't like the other missions that everybody else had in this Centre. No, Merry didn't want to train so he could get good at one thing so he could fight; he wanted to become close to that boy from Six (yet again, Merry had forgotten his name). But, Merry hadn't any idea how he was supposed to do so. The boy from Six was moving around the stations quite often, and if Merry stalked him everywhere he went, it would seem suspicious. He groaned to himself silently, as he watched the boy from Six walk over to the knot-tying station for the second time this morning.

Merry then distracted himself at the knife station; though he was incredibly outshined by the girl from One, and surprisingly, the boy from Eleven, he didn't really care. He was spending most of his time watching Estella in the wrestling station, tackling down her opponent, and then looking at them like she was going to break their neck. Merry gulped, wondering if she was thinking that he was the one who was going to be getting his neck snapped by Estella in the Games; or thinking that perhaps Estella was picturing that she was doing so already.

Merry decided that he didn't want to be depressed by looking at Estella, and he then focused back on his knives. He then realized that he was terrible at it; well, more than terrible. If the Game Makers were to mark Merry solely on his knife-throwing skills, Merry would be down in the negatives. His trainer knew it too, because after giving as much advice as he could, he finally gave up and just let Merry do his thing. Merry could tell that his trainer was wishing to go and help him, but he knew that Merry was a lost cause, and just ended up giving up.

Merry decided that he would not torture his trainer anymore, and abandoned the knife throwing station. He thought that maybe he heard the sigh of relief as he left; perhaps the Capitol man was hoping to train the boy from Eleven, who was rather good at throwing, unlike Merry.

Instead, Merry looked around at his fellow Tributes, finding the boy from Six at a different station yet again. Merry groaned, wondering when the boy would stop moving around like water flowing down a stream and would just stay at one station for more than fifteen minutes. Merry went to the wild plant station; one that he had already been to, but frankly had not cared about very much, and paid attention to the plants for at least an hour. After he was finished confusing one grass from another, he took a peak at the boy from Six, and found that he was still at the station; the slingshot station.

It was obvious that nobody else wanted to go to that station; by most Tributes it was deemed useless, and none of them bothered to try to go into it unless they certainly were bored, or they were terrible at everything else. Merry fell under both of those categories, but he also had another reason to go to the slingshot station now. The boy who he wanted to have an alliance with was there, all alone, and he looked like he was having a fun time.

Merry set the two grasses he was trying to figure out down, and then walked over to the station; he knew that appearing after an hour that the boy had been there for would not seem suspicious. He picked up his own slingshot, and then began shooting rocks at the various targets that would pop up. Merry found that, unlike throwing knives, he was rather decent with his shooting, and found that he would most likely be able to develop this skill above any other that he was to receive during his days in the Training Centre.

Eventually, the silence wore on too long, and Merry was wondering how he was supposed to make conversation with this boy without practically pleading him to become his ally in that one sentence. Merry had never been good at speaking to people, and now he cursed himself for that. He kept on looking at the boy in between his shots; finding that all of his shots hit where the boy must have implied them to go. Merry grinned to himself; knowing that if they did become allies in the Games, then they would most likely be known as the slingshot duo.

Finally, the boy decided to break the silence; thankfully to Merry. "Well, hello there, Cowboy," said the boy with a sly grin on his face.

Merry could tell that he was going to like this boy very much, and then retorted with, "Well, hello there, Goggles-boy."

Merry saw the boy's grin grow at this, but they said nothing more. Merry wondered if the hope of the boy actually becoming his ally shone clear in his eyes, and he severely hoped that it didn't; he did not want to seem desperate. He looked over at the boy again, who then shot his rock at Merry's target. Even though the boy had been shooting at a wrong target, he still hit the target accurately. Merry was rather impressed with this, especially since the boy must have been younger than he was.

Lunch was called, and Merry and the boy had silently decided that they were going to sit next to eat other for their lunch. The boy gave Merry a grin, and then said, "So, Cowboy, what is your name?"

"Meriadoc Brandybuck from Ten," Merry replied, and he grinned when he saw the boy's eyebrows rise slightly with his name. Merry knew that the boy was probably thinking about how strange of a name that Merry had. Merry continued, "Most people call me Merry."

"That's better than what I thought I was going to have to call you!" The boy said in a shout-whisper, which caused a smile to grow on Merry's face. This boy certainly had a good sense of humour, Merry could not deny him of that. But, Merry knew that humour was not going to get the boy very far in the Games, unless, of course, he was to cause the Tributes trying to kill him to laugh to death. The boy had looked over his shoulder, seeing if anybody had bothered to pay any attention to them. Finally, he seemed to realize that he had not actually introduced himself, and said, "I'm Peregrin Took, from Six, but most people call me Pippin."

Merry looked at the boy for a moment, and then warily extended his hand, "So, allies then?" Merry boldly asked, his breathing stopping for a moment as he thought about the fact that the boy may deny him. He hoped that he wouldn't have to look stupid in front of the rest of the Tributes, but he was lucky.

"Allies," Pippin agreed, and then they both shook hands. Merry felt a sense of relief form; he had an ally in these Games, which meant that he was going to be able to live longer.

Finally, the days of training was over, and Merry had waited for his opportunity to show the Game Makers what he could do. He hoped that he wasn't going to look like a complete fool, for all he had planned was to walk in there and shoot some rocks. He knew that his score was going to be terrible, as he was called in, and then shot some rocks at the targets. The Game Makers seemed almost disappointed with him, but they dismissed him nonetheless.

Merry sighed to himself in the elevator; knowing that tomorrow was going to be a lot worse than today had been.

Aragorn found that there really was no point to the Training Centre. He could easily go into the Games, and make it out alive without any of this training. Aragorn couldn't say much about the other weaklings that had been thrown into these Games as well. They were all stumbling around the room, looking much like lame donkeys in comparison to a great stallion. Aragorn had been raised around all of these weapons; for his District was the one to make them, and he could wield all of them rather easily.

Though he knew that he was not as good as the boy from One, he was still rather skilled with the bow, and he could easily use a sword. He noticed that the boy from Twelve was also handy in using a sword, and was rather shocked to find that; perhaps he had underestimated the other Tributes. But, as Aragorn watched him fight, he knew that he was much better than the boy and would be easily able to kill him if it came to a fight. He wondered if the boy knew that, as Aragorn sparred near him with another trainer. It would be impossible for him to miss the glances that Aragorn kept on giving the boy, but he probably did not think of how Aragorn could easily kill him.

Aragorn smiled to himself, as he decided to take a break and survey all of the other Tributes. The boy from Five was rather handy with an axe, and Aragorn watched as he constructed a trap in the rope section. This boy was going to be one to watch out for, Aragorn knew it. Usually, most Tributes from places such as this were usually weak and would usually die off in the initial bloodbath of the first day. Aragorn knew that this was going to be challenge; he hadn't foreseen the factor that these people could actually fight, and he groaned internally to himself.

There was no way that he was going to lose to them though; a boy from Two was not to be killed by the people from lesser Districts. If Aragorn was to die in these Games (which he planned not to, but as did most of the other Tributes), he was going to be killed by a Tribute from One or Four, or maybe even Arwen, not some snivelling Tribute from any other District. Aragorn looked around at the people who could possibly take his life, and his eyes narrowed as he looked at the Greenleaf.

He was going to take much pleasure in killing that boy; especially since his siblings had won the Games earlier, and he was going to have to face them when he became a Mentor. He wanted them to know that the Tributes from Two were strong, and that they were going to be able to win the Games no matter what. There was nothing in the Greenleaf's blood that was going to ensure that he won; for more of his siblings had died than won the Games, and if the boy followed through that, Aragorn was going to have no problems.

Deciding that he should do something other than just use the sword, Aragorn decided to join Arwen in the medical station; where they were taught how to identify wounds and sickness in the Games, and be able to counter them with wild plants, and in extreme cases, through the medicine that sponsors provided. Aragorn found that this was easy; for he had been taught by Elrond these things before, and he knew that he could easily use them if he had to. Arwen was also rather skilled at it; much better than Aragorn actually, but the eighteen-year-old boy from Two was not going to let her upstage him.

He then left the station and walked around for a couple of moments, watching as the girl from Ten tackled a trainer down, and then twisted their arm in a painful way. He could hear the trainer whimper as another one dragged the girl off, and Aragorn then realized that this girl had much more than just malice up her sleeve. The malice was just what drove the girl to be able to do things like this. Doubt began to leak its way into Aragorn's mind; he had not expected this. He was always taught that Tributes from Districts other than One, Two and Four were weak, expendable, and doomed to die.

He always thought that it was luck that allowed these Tributes from these Districts to become Victors, but now he realized that they actually had skill, and could pose as a problem. He had to rely on his skill and the items that he would get from the Cornucopia to survive these Games. He knew that he would be easily able to survive the bloodbath, even if he was not going to join the usual Career Alliance. He was strong enough to kill any Tribute that tried to challenge him, and the Careers would most likely think that he would join them eventually, so they would not try to kill him.

When lunch came around, Aragorn sat by himself; avoiding most other people. He watched the Career Alliance of the four girls. Though it was technically impossible for there to be four girls from Districts One, Two and Four, Aragorn personally thought that the Greenleaf looked much like one. He wondered if the people of the Capitol thought that there was some mistake, and that two girls had accidentally been Reaped from District One. If they did, then there must have been a huge talk show about it. Aragorn could not help but smirk about that.

Aragorn spent the most of his time in the sword station, and then, when his time came for the one on one time with the Game Makers, he demolished the man he was supposed to be sparring against. Once he was finished, he looked up at the Game Makers, who gave him approving nods, and scratched things down on their papers. They dismissed him soon afterward, and he grinned to himself; knowing that his high score was going to get him some decent sponsors.

Legolas strung his bow again, and shot a perfect target yet again. He smiled to himself, as he then drew another arrow, and aimed it at a much smaller target. He still hit it perfectly, and continued to do so. Though Legolas was very skilled with his bow, he was also very good with knives. When his father had not been consumed by grief, he had trained him with the knives, and Legolas had excelled at that. He was going to keep his knife skills a secret; and instead show off his bow skills.

He had to have something that he was going to keep a secret from the calculating eyes. He, unlike most of the other Tributes, had a Mentor for much longer than anybody else. Ever since his eldest brother had won the Hunger Games, he had gotten advice from him. Though Legolas's siblings had not won the Games, they all had this advantage, and they all had used it to help them last longer in the Games, and in Legolas's sister's case, to win the Games. Legolas was not going to throw away the advice; instead, he was going to use it.

He knew that most of the other Tributes figured that Legolas was only good with distant weapons, and if they were in a close combat battle that they would win. But, Legolas knew better than that. Though he had first picked up the bow, he had been warned by his older siblings and at first, his father, to get a close combat weapon. So Legolas had trained with the white knives that had been in his family as long as his Grandfather could remember.

Legolas then shot another one of the targets; a small bird target in the corner of the station, hitting it in the neck, and with such force that the bird fell from the rope that it was strung up on. The bird made a loud bang as it hit the ground, and it caused most of the Tributes to look at him, before they shrunk back to their own stations. Legolas grinned to himself; knowing that he had caused fear to bud in many of their hearts.

Perhaps he would never have to use his knives; perhaps he could just use his bow to shoot down all of the Tributes. But, he reckoned to himself, Tributes are going to be much harder to shoot down than the little bird in the corner of the station. Nobody else attempted archery during the time that Legolas was there; not a single tribute dared to stand up and attempt to try to learn how to use the bow and arrow. Only Legolas stayed there, for the hours of training, just shooting his bow nonstop.

Though it was a rather tedious task, Legolas did not care; he was enjoying the looks of terror that he got from the Tributes that were doomed to die. He would often smile at them; a cold, glare, looking at the smaller Tributes from the lesser Districts. The boy from Seven gave a little yelp when Legolas glared at him, and then practically ran to the other side of the Training Centre, causing Legolas to have a small laugh.

Legolas noticed that the boy from Two was watching him occasionally, as if he was trying to see how he would possibly be able to take him down. Legolas scoffed to himself, as he looked at the boy from Two; just because he was from the District that won last year, did not mean that the boy was going to win this year. Legolas was sure that he was going to win; there was no way that he lose to anybody. He was a Greenleaf; he would be strong, and he would win these Games. No matter how hard somebody else tried to beat him; it would be Legolas who became the Victor of these Games.

He grinned when he noticed the boys from Six and Ten at the slingshot station; the skill that they were learning was absolutely useless, unless, of course, they thought that they would be able to cause severe head trauma with the rocks that they were shooting at the targets. That was highly unlikely, so it was going to be amusing as they tried to save themselves by flinging rocks at the other Tributes. Legolas gave a small chuckle at this, before he was called over to lunch.

The Career Alliance this year would drive Legolas crazy. There was him, and the three girls from Districts One, Two and Four. Legolas grit his teeth as Sparkle began to talk nonstop to the girls, jabbering over anything that may had been useful information to Legolas. He wondered why the boys from Two and Four were not joining this alliance, but it was fine with Legolas; if they were no in the alliance, then they could be killed by other means apart from betrayal. There were plenty strong Tributes that could easily take down the boy from Four, but Legolas then realized that he was joining up with the boy from Eleven.

The girl from Two, who was in Legolas's alliance then said, "The boy from Eleven can throw well; that is why Frodo abandoned us."

So the girl had actually been paying attention when the girl from Four was telling them her name, and her District Partner's name. That made Legolas mildly amused; just because she knew the names of the fellow people in her alliance from the first day did not mean that she was going to be spared when it came time to kill of the members of the Career Alliance. Legolas nodded, "I have noticed."

"Lobelia says that she wants to kill him," the girl from Two continued, before she looked at Legolas, "I am Arwen, from Two. My District Partner is named Aragorn. I do believe that he is going alone. He is rather skilled with the sword, and with the bow; but I have seen that you are very good with the bow and arrow as well, so he should not pose a threat."

"Thank you," Legolas muttered under his breath, and Arwen nodded, her dark hair falling out of place, covering her blue eyes. Legolas gave her a small smile; at least somebody in this alliance was smart enough to pay attention to the other Tributes, apart from lusting after killing their District Partners. Legolas then deemed her worthy to introduce himself to. "I am Legolas, from One."

"Your District Partner is annoying, Legolas, I feel almost sorry for you, having to go to school with her," Arwen mumbled quietly under her breath, as Sparkle began to talk to the girl from Four, Lobelia. Legolas grinned to himself at this.

"Yes, very. If you haven't heard from the millions of times that she has said her name, she is Sparkle Sprinkle," Legolas said with a snort from both him and Arwen. The two other girls in the alliance looked at him, but then chose to ignore him. Legolas grinned to himself, deciding that Arwen was the best one in this alliance. He would actually try to keep this girl alive in the Games, but the other ones, however, he would not care if they died.

"If she wasn't as irritating as she is, I would consider to pity her for such a name," Arwen muttered, and Legolas rewarded her with a small smile, before they were then called back to train.

The days of training went by quickly for Legolas, and when it came time for him to show them what he could do, he then gave them a rather impressive showing of his arrows, before he showed them how he was capable of using his knives. After many approving nods, and some impressed mumbling went through the crowd. Legolas nodded at them, adjusting the green leaf pin on his shirt before he left.

"Well, now here we are! The scores of the Tributes!" Caesar Flickerman exclaimed, as he shifted his papers in his hand. "Legolas from One; TEN! Impressive, but expected from a Greenleaf! Sparkle from One; SEVEN! Aragorn from Two; NINE! Arwen from Two; EIGHT! Daniel from Three; FOUR! Stana from Three; THREE! Frodo from Four; EIGHT! Lobelia from Four; NINE! Gimli from Five; SIX! Freya from Six; FOUR! Peregrin from Six; FIVE! Diamond from Six; TWO! Rumil from Seven; THREE! Arianna from Seven; FOUR! Liam from Eight; SIX! Sonia from Eight; FOUR! Erik from Nine; FIVE! Diane from Nine; FOUR! Meriadoc from Ten; FIVE! Estella from Ten; EIGHT! Samwise from Eleven; SEVEN! Rosie from Eleven; FIVE! Boromir from Twelve; EIGHT! Ioreth from Twelve; Two!"

Legolas grinned when he had the highest score; Aragorn was disappointed that he only got a nine; Frodo knew that his score was enough to get a sponsor; Gimli thought that it could have been worse; Pippin and Merry both gave a small smile when they realized that they had the same score; Sam thought that it was strange that he got the same score of the girl from One; Boromir was just grateful that he got a rather good score.

All in all, the Tributes thought that they had done what they could, and were all dreading their interviews tomorrow.

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><p><strong><span>Thanks to meepet, dancinqueen18, LilyMaeve, KFinance, K9olaquia, Xelfi4ever, butterflyninja935, D.L. Sauron- AlmightyLOTRnerd, Chamorrita and RiverStorm16 for reviewing! Thanks to K9olaquia, and RiverStorm16 for favouritingsubscribing. I'm sorry for the late thing, I was sick for four days last week, and during those days, I did nothing because I was sick. Since this is a long chapter, it took me a bit longer to write, and being sick didn't help. I'm sorry for the late update! Also, about the male men thing... yah, sometimes, the back key doesn't work properly... and who knows? They could have been female men! XD Another thing that's completely irrelevant; I got an LOTR video game, and I started playing, and it threw me into the middle of the first battle without instructions! I survived, barely... and now I have to fight Ringwraiths... Yaaaaayyyyyyy... Thanks for reading, please review!**


	6. Interviews

_**~One Game to rule them all,**_  
><em><strong>One Game to find them,<strong>_  
><em><strong>One Game to bring them all,<strong>_  
><em><strong>And may the odds be ever in your favour.~<strong>_

* * *

><p>Pippin was grateful that he wasn't wearing any goggles during his interview. Though his suit was a rather annoying silver colour that sparkled more than the boy from One's teeth, and Pippin looked incredibly stupid in a suit; it was still much better than the unitard and the goggles on his head. At least Merry couldn't make fun of him, because his stylist hadn't exactly picked the greatest suit either. Pippin giggled to himself as he looked at Merry from down the long line of chairs that separated both of them. Pippin was beside Diamond, and the girl from Seven, whose name he had completely forgotten. Both of the girls that he was sitting next to looked like they both would rather die than be on the stage, and Pippin knew that if they abandoned their interview, they would most likely die in the Games from something that perhaps a sponsor could have provided.<p>

Pippin kept a fake smile on his face during the whole time that he was forced to sit in the chair, though the half an hour he was going to have to wait made smiling rather painful. Pippin sighed to himself, and then hoped that he would at least be able to get one Capital person who wouldn't be blinded by his painfully bright suit to sponsor him. He was almost like the Capitol people who made themselves sparkle in the sunlight; Twihards... that was what his escort called them. Pippin never wanted to be like those people, but he was anyways, dressed in his silver, annoyingly bright suit.

He watched as Diamond talked to the crowd; her voice rather shaky as she answered Caesar's questions. Pippin really was surprised when she kept a smile on her lips the entire time. From what he knew of Diamond; she was a rather shy girl, and did not usually like to speak out in front of all of the crowds. The impression that she left was a good one to the Capitol, but Pippin was sure that it was one that would make most other Tributes think that she was an airheaded, ditsy girl who probably couldn't fight for her life. Her score had been a two anyways.

Pippin then heard the buzzer, and knew that it would be his turn to show the crowd who he was; and he hoped that they were not already bored out of their mind with watching everybody else, or ogled out of their mind by the boy from One. Or, Pippin considered, they could have all been blinded when he was brought up to the chair opposite to Caesar. Most people, however, gave approving nods at Pippin's costume, and there was a muttering. No screams though, and Pippin almost felt a bit disappointed that he had not been able to blind anybody from the crowd.

"Welcome, your boy Tribute from District Six, Peregrin Took!" Caesar said, ecstatically, and then Pippin gave a small groan. He did not really like his first name, and the fact that they had been calling him Peregrin this whole time was like twisting the knife in deeper than it already was. Pippin, however, just smiled at the crowd as they gave half-hearted cheers; probably remembering him as the boy with the goggles. Caesar then continued, "So, Peregrin, how's the Capitol to you?"

Pippin thought for a moment, "Well, everybody's calling me Peregrin here, so it's odd. And it's really colourful too."

Caesar gave laugh at the last comment, as did most of the crowd, before he then asked, "You don't like being called Peregrin? Is there a nickname then?"

"Most people call me Pippin," He told them, and then Caesar nodded at him. Pippin thought that he was doing well for the first couple of seconds of his interview. He hoped that he would not have to talk of home; for he would have nothing good, or memorable to say about his home. Home wasn't something that the Capitol people cared much of though, for his home was nothing more than a service to them; something that gave them things at cheap labour. The starving families being unable to afford any food, or even a roof, was something that none of these people would ever have to know.

"So, everybody, this is Pippin from Six!" Caesar exclaimed again, and then the crowd gave a roar of appreciation to him. Pippin's smile grew a little at this, but he tried to keep his head as Caesar then asked, "What is your strategy in these Games?"

Pippin thought for a moment, before he then grinned and said, "At first, I was hoping that I could just stay in a tree and eat the bark of it... but then I realized that bark doesn't taste that good."

Pippin earned a bunch of laughs from the audience, as well as a chuckle from Caesar himself. He grinned to himself, as his interview continued, mostly with questions on how he would survive the Games, and one about what he would do if he had won the Games. Pippin had known not to answer; 'Hire a decent therapist' and instead kept up his facade and said that he would buy a lot of food with his winnings. Finally, after seemed to be an eternity, his buzzer went, and Pippin was freed from talking in front of the Capitol.

He felt relieved for a couple of moments, until he realized that this was the last night he would spend outside of the Games.

After having to wait last, Boromir did not wish to speak in front of the crowd at all. He was one to speak in front of crowds, but he had not the slightest idea of which he was to talk about. Everybody else had already talked to the crowd; being as charming as they could, trying to capture their hearts. Boromir had to admit, even though Ioreth had received a low score, she was being rather charismatic with the crowd right now.

She was charming, and Boromir could see why. She was one of those shy girls that everybody liked, but was one to be modest, and not strut around with her nose up in the air like other girls that he had known. Her gentle, soft voice made the crowd be quiet for her, and if anybody spoke, they would have drowned her out; it was a way to ensure that they listened to her. She spoke about things at home; making Boromir wish that he could go back there, but she never mentioned any of her family.

The buzzer went, and Boromir waited until he was introduced to stand from his chair. Hearing his name resound around the whole Capitol was somewhat of a shock to him. Boromir never planned on doing anything that would get him famous, but it wasn't like any of the citizens of the Districts could ever become famous unless they became Victors, and being a Tribute was something that Boromir never had wanted to be. But, here he was now, sitting in a chair next to Caesar Flickerman, who had decided that the brightest orange possible was the most attractive thing he could wear.

In earlier years, Boromir recalled that Caesar had picked different colours to base his hair and makeup off of. Last year it had been a light pink, this year it was bright neon orange. There was nothing natural about the orange that was on him; it could never pass by as a flower colour, nor could it pass as the soft sun setting in the distance. No, this orange was an artificial orange that made Boromir hate why he was here even more.

"Welcome, welcome, Boromir, now, how are you this evening? You are dressed rather dashingly," Caesar commented, mentioning Boromir's outfit. He was wearing something rather similar to his Chariot outfit, but the stylist had adjusted it to make it different; somehow. Boromir could not really see the difference, for the black fabric was gossamer, and looked still much like the suit before. Perhaps it was something to do with the collar of his shirt instead of the fabric that it had been made of. Boromir was never one for fashion, and he would never know what made this outfit different than his Chariot one.

"I am fine, thank you," Boromir said, and he could tell that his discomfort was already clear to the crowd. He wanted to hide his face, but he remained strong, thinking about how Faramir would be watching this, and would be holding onto every word that Boromir said; most likely just to hear the sound of his brother's voice. After thinking this, a pit grew in Boromir's heart, and he tried to get it out as he focused on Caesar's bright orange hair.

"Now Boromir, about the Reaping, there was a young boy, terribly young thing he was, looking much like he wanted to volunteer for you. You were seen shaking your head at the boy; do you know who that boy was?" Caesar asked, almost as if he was reading Boromir's thoughts about Faramir. Boromir's grey eyes grew cold at this; not enough for the cameras to pick up, but well enough for Caesar to see.

"He was my younger brother," Boromir said softly, and then Caesar's eyebrows raised up in surprise. He knew that this would be something that could catch many people to feel for this boy; and to want to sponsor him. Boromir also knew so, but he did not want to exploit Faramir as so. He did not want to make his younger brother to be so confident that Boromir would return to him, because Boromir knew that he would not be able to do so. Boromir was already accepting the fact that he was going to die, and he knew it.

"Your younger brother? Certainly you spoke to him before leaving, did you promise him anything?" Caesar asked; hopeful that perhaps Boromir had promised the younger boy that he would come home. Boromir, however had not done so. He shook his head.

"I just told him that I loved him, and that I always would," Boromir said stiffly, earning a couple of sighs from the crowd, and tears in some of the women's eyes. Boromir almost wanted to glare at the women, but he held back from doing so. Now he knew that he had just made himself look like he was a weakling to the rest of the Tributes. Boromir then refrained from talking of Faramir for the rest of the interview, and instead talked of the Capitol; which was ego boosting for them, though it wasn't something to get him noticed. Boromir just sighed to himself as he then sat down on his chair before the interviews were called to a close.

Legolas grinned to himself as he was called up after Sparkle. Though she was the first one, and Sparkle was dressed in a rather revealing way, Sparkle had certainly not given a lasting impression on the crowd. Legolas knew that he would leave one, he was a Greenleaf; the seventh one. His brothers and sister had already made a lasting impression on the Capitol; they had already carved out an easy way to fame for Legolas. The green pin on his collar of his shirt was proof enough of that, and the fact that his stylist allowed him to wear his pin on every outfit that they had designed made it clear that he wanted Panem to know who Legolas was.

Being a Greenleaf in these Games was something that would get Legolas many sponsors without a blink of the eye. But, Legolas did not want to be only known for the path that his siblings had made. Legolas had practiced for this all of his life; trained to be in the Games, trained to be in front of the people of the Capitol, and trained to impress them. This would not be hard for Legolas, since he already had a name for himself, and he was considerably attractive; which was something that the people of the Capitol thought highly of.

Legolas walked over to Caesar Flickerman, a smile on his face as he did so. Legolas's long blond hair was loose down his back, apart from the two front pieces, which were braided behind his back. His face had been touched up by makeup, but there was really nothing more to it; the stylist fearing that if they did anything, then Legolas would look more like a girl than anything else. Even Caesar, who usually dressed in rather eye-catching outfits, was amazed by Legolas's suit.

Legolas was wearing a suit that was white, with an emerald green tie, as well as his green leaf pin. The suit was then embedded with numerous emeralds, which, with a pang, reminded Legolas of his friend, Emerald. He hoped that she would be watching this; perhaps gagging over the fact that even though Legolas tried his hardest to not look like a girl, he certainly looked like one now, even though he was dressed in the most masculine clothes that his stylist could muster.

Legolas could barely hear anything over the screaming of the Capitol women, but he assumed that it was a good sign for him. All of these Capitol women had money, and money was what Legolas needed to get out of these Games alive. Well, he didn't absolutely _**need**_it per say, he would have just preferred to know that if he snagged all of the sponsors, then people who would need the sponsors would not get them. Also, it would be much easier for Legolas to win these Games if he had sponsors who would willingly throw money down at his feet.

This helped Legolas's smug smile stay on his face as he then sat down next to Caesar. The man who had hosted the Games since Legolas could even remember looked rather pleased to be sitting next to Legolas, perhaps happy that there was another Greenleaf in the Games yet again. Caesar started them off, as he usually did. "So, Legolas, you're the seventh Greenleaf to step on this stage! How does it make you feel that you are going to be in the Games like your six other siblings?"

Legolas thought for a moment, "It doesn't really matter much. They were against different Tributes, who knows what could happen?"

"Indeed," Caesar agreed before he then changed the topic completely; he changed it to the outfit that Legolas was wearing. "So, what do you think about the fabulous costume you are in right now?

Legolas sighed internally; of course they would want to know about his thoughts on the clothes he was wearing apart from the Games. He then forced a smile on his face, and decided that he was going to have a laugh at his expense. There was really nothing more Legolas could do about it; he didn't care about what he was wearing, he cared about the Games, and intimidating his opponents. If he did this, then he would be able to get over the Capitol's strange fascination of clothes, and on to something that was much more important to Legolas; the Games.

"Well, I think that it makes me look much like a girl," Legolas commented, earning what he wanted; a round of laughter from the audience. Legolas turned his head to the side, "Perhaps it's my hair?"

After being reassured that indeed, it certainly was not his hair, and that Legolas looked much like a boy instead of a girl, talk of the Games ensued. Legolas spoke about how he had watched his older siblings in the Games for the past six years, and the fact that he had learned from watching them in these Games. He spoke about the experience that he gained by watching his siblings die, and knowing that it very well may happen to him; but he did not tell them that he, of course, would never be killed in these Games.

Legolas did not show how cocky he was, or the fact that he was certain that he would win the Games and become the Victor. Legolas knew that if he was to show this, then he would most likely lose sponsors, which would be another way for his opponent Tributes to get sponsors. That was something that he could not allow, and he would never let them know about how he certainly was going to win these Games.

Samwise Gamgee was nervous for his interview. Talking in front of so many people to try to get them to like him was something that he had never really tried to do. He was rather shy when it came to people that he liked; he was one of those boys who would watch silently as the person that he liked went through their daily life. He couldn't really find a way to speak to them, and he would never want to know what it would be like to talk in front of so many people. But, there was no way that he would be able to avoid it now, for he was forced to do so.

He shifted uncomfortably in his costume; a simple light brown suit that had grasses drawn up its side. Sam knew that he looked nice, but he would never wear things like this on a daily basis, like all of the Capitol people did. Sam was sure that he would slowly go insane if he had to wear things like this. But Sam knew that there was a little chance of him ever returning from these Games, and he knew that he would never really have to dress like this ever again in his life.

Thinking about the Games, and how they were to start in the next day, Sam was extremely nervous, and most likely would be barely able to talk at this moment. He wouldn't get any sleep tonight, and he knew that he was going to most likely put himself in a most compromising situation. He groaned to himself, knowing that Rosie was going to snatch all of the sponsors that may have gotten otherwise; that is, if all of the sponsors had not been taken by the boy from One who looked like a girl.

Sam sighed as Rosie giggled at something that Caesar said. The crowd gave sighed a little at her, most likely captivated by the beauty of her smile, and the tinkling sound of her laughter. He knew that the Capitol was intrigued by her; she seemed so elusive to them, almost like an angel, dressed in her golden dress with the rolling grasses on it, and the beautiful golden tinsel that had been braided into her hair. Her smile was beautiful as well; her teeth looking much nicer than the boy from One's, even though she most likely never had anything to surgically make them straight. Not only did she look nice, she was kind, and soft hearted, which was something that the Capitol people liked.

Perhaps if they weren't put into such a situation, Sam would have fallen for Rosie, but now, all he could view her as was an angel that had been sent down to destroy him. There was no way that he would be able to kill her if they were the final two; she was just too nice, and kind, and so deserving of the life ahead of her. But, Sam reckoned; so did very many other people here. The girl from Five, being so young certainly deserved to make it out of these Games alive, as did the thirteen-year-olds from Six. Sam might not have deserved life, but he certainly wanted it, which was why he was determined to not give up.

He wondered if anybody had; the boy from Six, who seemed to have such a hopeless glint in his eyes had one that was much more hopeful now. He certainly did not anymore, but he did so before. Sam recalled the boy from Ten, and how the boys had grown to be in an alliance. Perhaps that was the reason why that glint had appeared in his eyes; but Sam had an ally now too, but he did not think that he would be able to make it, even with Frodo on his side.

Though Sam liked to stay humble, he was quite intelligent as well. He knew that Frodo would betray him, sooner or later; it was what he could expect from a boy who was so clever, and had been training for this all of his life. These thoughts captivated him, making him lose his nervousness momentarily before Caesar Flickerman then called his name. Sam gulped; hopefully not noticeably, as he then got from his chair.

He hoped that he was not shaking as he walked over to the chair, and then as the crowd cheered at his presence. Sam never thought that so many people would be watching him; he never wanted so many people to be watching him, but he couldn't avoid it now. He looked out at the crowd, and gave a nervous smile, which some of the people (namely women) must have thought to be cute, for there were a multitude of sighs after he did so.

"So Samwise, do you happen to have a nickname like so many other of these Tributes?" Caesar asked, mostly referring to what Sam knew was the slingshot duo; the boys from Six and Ten, who both had nicknames for their relatively strange names. Sam's smile grew a bit more comfortable as he realized that he was going to have to answer with a yes.

"Well, people do call me Sam, but you can call me what you like," Sam told him, almost mumbling, though he said it loud enough for the Capitol people to hear. He wondered what he looked like to the Capitol, and more importantly, his fellow Tributes; certainly not somebody who was strong. He must have looked shy, almost adorable, if one was a crazy lady of the Capitol who lived with many cats and other strange animals.

"Ah, so Sam it is," Caesar said, calling Sam by his nickname, as if it was almost something that most people were not allowed to do. "Who knew that there were so many nicknames amidst our Tributes? Well, Sam, what do you need to go back to at home? A girl perhaps?"

Sam wondered what he was going to sound like when he replied, "No, not a girl, there isn't anybody who I like... not anybody who likes me either. The only thing I got back home is my garden."

"Ah, that's a little disappointing, but I do hope your garden fares well in your absence!" Caesar said, and Sam nodded. His interview continued like so, and Sam knew that he had not left much of an impression on the people of the Capitol, but he was glad that it was over with as he sat back down. He then knew that even though he would not be talking in front of the people directly, he would certainly be shown on the TV once he was thrown into the Games, and that, by extent, he would never be truly in privacy. He sighed, knowing that he would most likely have to enjoy the last night he got to himself, and that he would not sleep at all for it.

Gimli already knew what his strategy would be for his interview; somebody who frankly didn't care. A boy who would not try to be likeable, but one who would leave an impression on the crowd, and make himself likeable even though he would certainly not be to most. He would be gruff, and hard, and act like he had somewhere better to be, even though he didn't, and people would admire him for being like so, and be mystified by his secretive attitude, and harsh outlook. It would make them want to see more into him since he was trying so hard for them to not see, and it would make him somebody who was likeable.

This was something that he could easily pull off. It was his nature, and by his nature he would act. He wouldn't have to put on a false smile and act what he was not, like the girl from Three, who tried desperately to be sexy; going as far as wearing a rather revealing dress. But, the girl hadn't the attitude to pull it off, and ended up looking like a kinky girl who could be sold into prostitution with a five dollar bill. Gimli knew that the only impression that girl had left was one to be laughed upon.

But as he watched Freya, he knew that she would captivate some of the members of the audience. For lack of a better word, Gimli thought that Freya was rather cute, and was using her age to that advantage. The little girl who had snapped at their escort was hidden behind all of the innocence, and was somebody that, if he had not seen it, Gimli would never believe that this child in front of him would be able to act like. She smiled sweetly at the crowd, and even wasted her precious seconds thinking about things that she could have easily answered; biting her lip and looking up at the sky as if it was something to give her inspiration.

It was an act that anybody would be proud of. It did not distort her in anyway; only showing the side of her that was there, and magnifying it to an extent that would make people think of her as cute, and cute only. It also helped that her stylist had some sense this time, and dressed her in a soft, flowing dress of dark green, and even put a bow in her hair. The green complemented her hair, and the bow added a small glint of cuteness that Gimli knew most others would not be able to pull off

Gimli, however, was dressed in a dark green suit, in which he had taken off the tie because it had bothered him. He was extremely uncomfortable in the clothes that he was forced to wear, and never understood why dress clothes had to be so uncomfortable. He would never understand style, and he never wanted to. There was no way that he would be forced to dress up like this again in his life; even if he did make it out of the Games, he would just wear his definition of dress clothes, which was a nice shirt, and a part of shorts that had little rips in them.

Freya's time had been called to a close, and Gimli knew that he was to be next. He sighed to himself, before he set the tie down on his chair, and then walked up to the chair in which he was to sit in for the next three minutes. He sighed to himself as Caesar then smiled at him with his fake whitened teeth, and his scary orange lipstick and hair. Caesar's brows then furrowed as he looked at Gimli's outfit.

"You seem to be missing your tie," Caesar commented, as Gimli sat down. Gimli gave him a little glare, before he shifted in his seat. For being in the Capitol, Gimli expected the chair to be at least more comfortable than it was.

"It was accidentally misplaced," Gimli said with a voice littered with sarcasm, causing the audience to laugh. Caesar gave a chuckle that made him (at least in Gimli's perspective) look like he was possessed by a demon. It took a couple seconds for the crowd's laughter to subside as Caesar then composed himself.

"Well, Gimli, I do hope you find that tie. Now, Gimli, what is it that you think these Games will be like?" Caesar asked him, and then Gimli groaned to himself.

"Like the others, I guess, just with different people. I just happen to be thrown in the mix this time," Gimli said, and then Caesar nodded at him.

"That is true. Now, Gimli, what do you think the arena will be? Do you hope it to be anything?" Caesar bombarded Gimli, and he glared at Caesar for a moment.

"I don't know what the arena could be, I'm sure nobody here does really. As for what I hope it to be... a maze of caves," Gimli concluded, not going to into detail of why he wished the arena to be caves. Gimli always had had a fascination with caves and jewels; it was something that his father shared with him. But Gimli never had an opportunity to hold a jewel in his hands, and now, he knew that he would most likely never get one.

"Caves? Why so?" Caesar prodded, but Gimli refused to answer. This caused a murmuring in the crowd, and Gimli knew that his plan was working well. The rest of his interview was much like this; he was like a fish avoiding the hook, swimming teasingly around it, and the Capitol people were at the end of the rod, hoping for him to take the bait. But Gimli never did so, and at the end of his three minutes, he had succeeded in what he wished to succeed in, and knew that he, the fish that they hoped to catch and kill, was now the one who had them biting his bait.

Merry had confidence in himself now that he had an ally; it was more than just somebody who was going to help him stay alive in the Games, Pippin was a person who generally cared about his well-being. Merry was right; if Pippin and him had been from the same District, they certainly would have been friends, and close ones at that. He knew that if he hadn't been in the Games, then he would have never met Pippin, but the situation that only one of them would be able to get out of the Games bothered Merry greatly, and he wished that they had met under different situations. No matter how he wished it, this nightmare would never end, and Merry knew that he would never be able to live a life with Pippin as his friend.

But, Merry did take pride in having Pippin as a friend, and if he wasn't the one to win the Games, he would wish that Pippin would do so. The boy was just too likeable for his own good, whether he knew it or not. Pippin had not let any of his, nor Merry's abilities slip through during his interview, and Merry was hoping to do so as well. He couldn't let any of his fellow Tributes know about the fact that they were much better with slingshots than they showed, as well as their resourcefulness to food. Also, Merry knew that most of the Tributes didn't really think of them as close allies, and thought of them as somebody easily taken down, but Merry and Pippin had stolen over to the swords section once or twice when nobody was looking, and had found that they could wield swords decently.

Merry watched as Estella went on; and he knew that she would say nothing good about him. He wished that he could just block her out as she spoke to the crowds with a cold sneer on her face. She was playing the cocky side up on a level that was just too high for her to actually be able to achieve, but the crowd believed her nonetheless. Merry didn't know that Estella was this violent, but he guessed that the will power to bring herself home overcame anything else that Estella could have otherwise felt or what she once was.

She answered her questions with a smooth tone of voice, and seemed rather sly as she did so, but she was nothing special, and Merry knew that she, much like he was going to, did not make a lasting dent on the crowd. There were too many people who had already skilfully manipulated the audience to fit to their grasps and their needs. Estella was just playing a game that had been long over played by the people before her. It was the disadvantage of being one of the last Districts. The people of the Capitol would get bored of the interviews, and they would lose any will to really care about the last couple of Tributes. As did Merry, really, after having to sit through an hour of people talking already; they had all started to blur together, like a badly done movie montage.

There was one thing that Merry hated more than the long wait, and that was what his stylist had forced him to wear. His stylist had given him a straw hat, and a blue plaid shirt instead. Merry had long 'lost' the piece of straw that his stylist forced him to have in his mouth, and wished desperately that he was dressed differently. Even Pippin, who shone so bright he could have replaced a disco ball, looked better than he did. Merry wanted to kill his stylist brutally, but he knew that he would never get the opportunity. Merry then decided that if he was ever forced to kill anybody in these Games (even though he swore against killing Estella) that he would picture them as his stylist. That would at least make it something that he may cope with afterwards.

Merry waited for Estella's three minutes to be done, and with the sound of the buzzer, Merry knew that it was his chance to shine, though he knew that he would do so dimly. He would never become the star that the Capitol hoped him to be, the one that would impress them all to throw money down for things that seemed so petty for them in their lives; like water and food that he might need in the Games.

"Well, Meriadoc, good evening! That is a rather interesting outfit that you are wearing," Caesar had his eyebrows raised at Merry's costume, looking it head to toe, eyes widening when he saw the leather boots.

"I've honestly never worn anything like it before," Merry said darkly, before he decided to put a brighter spin on his interview. "And the only time that I'm ever called Meriadoc is when my mother yells at me. Most call me Merry."

"Oh ho! Another nickname amidst the tributes! How ironic that is!" Caesar said with a grin on his face. Merry had to smirk at this; little did Caesar know, there was much more irony to the situation. If Caesar had known that Merry and Pippin had joined up in alliance, Merry was sure that all of his orange-dyed hair would have fallen out of his head in shock. Merry paused for a moment to consider how it would most likely be an improvement if that was to happen.

"Well, with a long name like mine, there has to be a short form," Merry said with a shrug. Merry wondered if the fact that he had a nickname would be the thing that stood him out the most.

"How true, though I do not believe any other name would suit such a fine fellow here!" Caesar said, earning a round of applause. "So Merry, how is the Capitol different for you?"

Merry paused for a moment, "Lots of things really, but mainly the clothing. I mean, do most people walk around dressed like I do?"

"Oh, of course not, Merry!" Caesar exclaimed, with a small smile on his lips, "We are much more fashionable than that!"

"Okay then, I'll make a memo to myself to get better clothing!" Merry said jokingly, earning a couple of laughs. Merry knew that he really was not going to make much more of an impression than the boy who made fun of his clothing, and who also had a nickname. He was right, and even though that Merry's interview had gone by smoothly, he knew that he would never be able to shine as brightly as the boy from One did, and nor would he ever be as blinding as Pippin's suit. Merry grinned at that thought, even though it was not much of something to grin about; but he knew that he was going to have a fun time making fun of Pippin for that in the Games.

Aragorn personally thought that the interviews were a waste of time. Most of the Tributes put up fake masks, and pretended to be something that they were not just so they could grab the attention of people who had more money than they did brain cells. Aragorn thought that it was not something to be proud of; trying to capture the attention of the Games crazed Capitol people. To him, it would certainly not be a challenge. All that was there to oppose him was the boy from One, who was so dazzling pretty that Aragorn had to turn away. He almost wanted to get a gender check on the boy to see if it was actually a boy instead of a girl.

But, Aragorn knew that inducing petty things like that would make him seem that he was interested, or even intimidated by the boy from One. Aragorn knew that something like this would not be allowed if he wanted to become a Victor. He could not show anything that may be perceived as a weakness if he wanted any sponsors, and he certainly would not show any if he did not have to. He needed to stay strong; not only was he going to fight off the Career pack, he also had the boy from Twelve who seemed to be strong, and the boy from Four, who had abandoned the Careers. Aragorn groaned a little when he remembered that the boy from Eleven; the one with decent knife skills for somebody who had not been trained in his life, had teamed up with the boy from Four.

He knew that he was going to have to actually try to fight in these Games, and that though he planned to go and fight at the Cornucopia, it would not be a walk in the park. But, Aragorn reminded himself; these were the Hunger Games, fights of blood and hard earned victories were expected. Though he knew that most of the Victors only won because they out lasted their opponent as they both lay on the ground, bleeding to death, he tried to keep that out of his head, and tried to think that he would be a Victor that would easily make it out of the Games.

He had been, in the words of the words of his own Mentor, been an exceptional example of good swordsmanship. Aragorn knew that this would help him get out alive. He knew about the Careers; most of them were skilled in long ranged attacks, like the girl from Four, who only seemed to be able to throw spears, and the girl from One, who threw knives the whole time, and was easily up shown by the boy from Eleven. There were Careers that should be in the Games, and then there were not. Clearly, this girl was one of them that should not have been in the Games. She brought disgrace to her District by even volunteering.

That was something that only made Aragorn feel smug. There was no reason for him to be concerned about being in the Games with a girl who disgraced her District, or the fact that District One was to be disgraced. The Districts One and Two often grew competitive in the Games, and thus, they grew to have a secret loathing for each other, for the Tributes that were usually left in the Games were the ones from One and Two, and whoever won would bring pride for that District, at least until the next Games.

Two had won last year, and Aragorn had planned to make it happen again this year. He grinned as he watched Arwen talk to the crowd; she was certainly charming. Soft spoken, and having a Mentor as her father (at least one that was alive) already gave her enough publicity to outshine the boy from One easily, whose only claim to fame was the fact that five of his siblings had been killed in the Games, while two had won. Aragorn certainly thought that this was not impressive, as he then ran a hand through his hair.

His hair was softly tousled, giving him a rather rugged look that his stylist insisted would catch the eyes of many of the Capitol sponsors. Aragorn did not see how, but he did not question it. He had known sponsors to give life-saving gifts, and if he could get one of them, he would greatly appreciate it. The rest of his clothing was a bronze suit, with black leathered shoes. He hated his outfit, but was not so prompt to show it like the boy from Five had.

He watched Arwen as she laughed a little, before her buzzer went off, and she gave Caesar a small smile and goodbye to him, as Aragorn then stood up. The sooner he got over this interview, the better. He knew that after this night, he would be put in the Games, and that would be wear all of the fun would happen. He gave another small grin as he thought about it.

Caesar started by complementing Aragorn's attire, before he got into the real questions. One of them, in particular, stood out the most.

"So, Aragorn, your father had been a Victor of the Games, and many of the other Tributes have relations to Victors. Now, my question is, do you think that the relationships that these people have with Victors, including yourself, have any effect on how the Games will enfold?" Caesar asked, with an eager undertone in his voice.

Aragorn shook his head with a small chuckle, "It has nothing to do with how the Tributes will act! We aren't our parents; there's really no way how to ensure a victory in these Games. Unexpected things happen all of the time. Bloodlines have nothing to do with how we fight and how we become Victors ourselves."

"So, there is no advantage that you may have over any other Tribute?" Caesar pushed, his orange lips pressed together.

"Not unless you count stories told by our parents about their Games, no," Aragorn finished, and then Caesar finally got onto a different topic.

In the end Aragorn felt as though he had made a good impression on the crowd, as he sat back down, looking at the boy from One, who stared at him beseechingly. Aragorn smirked to himself, as he thought; _**well, let the Games begin. **_

Frodo was grateful that he was not dressed in something as little as rope and shorts this time, and instead, was dressed in a suit that was warm enough for him to sit without his teeth chattering. Frodo wondered how his stylist ever thought that dressing people in ropes was fashionable or functional. But, Frodo reckoned, all of the Capitol people were crazy, so he couldn't really blame them for what he was forced to wear for the Chariots. His suit was a simple, metallic, sea-green, with fish swimming across it whenever Frodo moved.

He hardly cared for what he was wearing, though most of the people watching live certainly did. There would probably be news articles picking apart every aspect of clothing that Frodo was wearing, and most likely for the rest of the Tributes, but Frodo really didn't care for that. If he wanted to leave a lasting impression, it would be because he had a way with words instead of the fact that he was born naturally beautiful, much like the boy from One was relying on. Frodo hated the boy already, and he didn't even know him.

Frodo twisted his ring on his fingers as he watched Lobelia talk. His cousin had joined up in an alliance with the boy from One, and though Frodo knew that it may have been considered wrong of him to think so, he secretly wished that she would be betrayed by the boy from One, and would live her last moments tasting that betrayal on her tongue before she was rendered senseless and dead. But for now, Frodo was going to have to wait until the Games started for him to be able to hold that satisfaction in his hands.

But though Frodo wished Lobelia to feel that, he thought about how Sam was going to feel it as well, for Frodo did not plan on having Sam kill him in his sleep. On contrary, Frodo expected to do so himself, and hoped that Sam would understand his reasons to have him as an ally. At first, it was just so Frodo could use him, but now, Frodo had begun to like Sam, and feelings of friendship were things to be erased in the Games. Frodo knew that he was going to have to get rid of that strange likeness that he held for Sam if he wanted to get out of these Games alive.

Sam did not suspect anything, which made the guilt of the betrayal that has yet come to pass grow on Frodo. He twisted his ring harder as he tried to erase it. He needed to keep his head if he was going to win these Games, not let illogical things like emotions get in his way. He couldn't allow himself to become subdued by foolish things like this. Frodo sat, watching as Lobelia tried, and in his opinion, failed to charm the crowd to do as she wished it to.

Lobelia, in Frodo's opinion, had never been a pleasant person. Though her parents had died in a boating accident, much like Frodo's had; she had become bitter, and extremely unpleasant to be around. For all he knew, she was waiting for their uncle Bilbo (who indeed had a large amount of money in his possession) to drop dead so she could get her inheritance. Frodo smiled to himself when he remembered that really, Bilbo had left everything to him, and none to his other relatives. Lobelia, however, would never find that out, for Frodo knew that he was going to win these Games.

Finally, Frodo's wait was over as the beep made Lobelia stop talking; much to the happiness of all of the other audience members as well. Frodo walked slowly up, trying to take his time to collect his thoughts, and think of what he was going to say to the audience. Obviously, he was going to let slip a small amount of his cleverness, but not enough for the Tributes to be alarmed of him.

Caesar's smile was odd to Frodo, and it almost made him want to tear it off of Caesar's face, but Frodo decided that attacking the man who would help him get sponsors was not something that would be good for him at all. Frodo smiled back at Caesar. Though Frodo knew that he was not as naturally gifted as the ruggedly handsome boy from Two, or the almost girlish boy from One, he knew that he was at least a bit attractive.

"So Frodo, you are cousins with Lobelia, eh?" Caesar said, a grin on his face. "How do you think that will affect the Games?"

Frodo's smile grew as he said this, and knew that it was the perfect time to let it slide of how clever he truly was. "It makes no difference at all. She's just another Tribute, distant relations really have no meaning the Games."

"Not anything?" Caesar pushed, an eager expression on his face.

"Well, maybe. But, mercy's just a pretty word for biased weakness," Frodo explained, and the audience looked at him for a moment, shock in their eyes, before they applauded for a second. They then hung onto every word that Frodo said afterwards, and he knew that he had certainly caught their attention, and made a lasting impression on them. This was certainly a way that he would be able to get sponsors for the Games.

Though he was guilty about his future betrayal, Frodo could not help but think that his plan to win the Games had become something of a reality, and that he knew that he was certainly going to be one of the most memorable Victors that the Capitol had ever seen.

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><p><strong>Thanks to butterflyninja935, D.-AlmightyLOTRnerd, LilyMaeve, K9olaquia, KFinance, and DORK DOG for reviewing! Thanks for reading, and please review!<strong>

**AND NOW FOR THE MULTITUDE OF AUTHOR'S NOTES! Please proceed to ignore if you don't care about things like why there are late updates and fan art info. Though I do recommend you read them, please! XD**

**Sorry for the late update! I was sick (again) for a couple of days, and I had an award ceremony on Thursday night that took away the time I needed to finish this chapter, and on Friday, I was whisked away to my internetless cottage, where I finished this after being there in half an hour. And it was the long weekend, otherwise, I would have posted it waaay sooner. Dear Valar, I am sorry! Oh, and just a question, with the little information I gave you about their interviews (if I wrote their whole interviews, this chapter would be twice as long and probably would not be out until June) who would you sponsor?**

**Just so you all know, even though I do call Legolas and Aragorn handsome, and sparkly (wait, that was Pippin) and attractive, I'm not a Legolas or Aragorn fangirl at all. But, my opinions on the characters are not going to change how the Games will unfold. And, for some reason, I made Caesar say 'eh'.**

**THANKS TO ICHIPUP WHO HAS DRAWN GIMLI FOR THIS STORY! He is up on deviantart, under her name there, which is ichiexpression. Since the links are down on profiles, please search Gimli; One Game to Rule Them All, or just search ichi's name to find it. I'll post the link with spaces in it below (just delete the spaces and then go and see the AWESOMENESS!)**

**http:/ browse. deviantart .com/?qh=§ion=&q=Gimli +One+GAME+to+rule+them+all# /d4xgenv**


	7. Day One The Faces In the Sky

_**~One Game to rule them all,  
>One Game to find them,<br>One Game to bring them all,  
>And may the odds be ever in your favour.~<strong>_

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><p>Admittedly, Merry did not get any sleep the night before the Games began. He wondered if anybody that was going to be in the Games did; it seemed highly unlikely. For some of these people, it would be their last night of their lives. Merry wondered if it would be his, but he knew that he had to last at least a bit longer than just one day. Not only would it be for him, it would be for Pippin as well. They had made a deal, and they were going to stick to that deal; they were allies, and Merry was not going to die before they could meet up. He was determined to not die in the bloodbath, and he knew that if he did try at least to stay alive, then he most likely would.<p>

He had almost doused off, but images of previous Games were brought forward from his memory, and he jolted upwards. He wondered how he was going to die in these Games; most likely at the hands of Estella, or at the hands of one of those big Careers. Maybe he'd be killed by the boy from One, who seemed to be the one who was going to murder all of them; even the Tributes who looked stronger than he did. Merry's visions then changed from everybody else dying to himself being put in those situations, with the boy from One, and Estella both laughing as he died and a large cannon sounded.

Merry couldn't do anything but stand up, and he walked over to the showers. Even though it was around one in the morning, he couldn't think of anything else that he was to do. The buttons on the shower were enough to distract him for an hour, as he repetitively was covered in different soaps, and different temperatures of water. He didn't know when the next time he was going to have a shower or bath would be; most likely never, so he was going to enjoy the cleanliness when he could.

He wondered how he would manage in the Games; he wondered what the arena would be. Perhaps the arena was a maze of caves like the boy from Five had said that he wished it to be. What if it was a desert with no water or wood and the only way for a Tribute to live would be through the food of the packs at the Cornucopia and through sponsors? Going to the Cornucopia was clearly something that Merry planned to not do. It would be an instant suicide for him, and Pippin if they decided to go in together. Sponsors were something that Merry had not caught a lot of through his training score of five, and his interviews.

He could only hope that there was food in the place he would be, and that there would be trees for him and Pippin to climb so they could escape any monsters or Tributes that would try to get them. But, Merry reckoned, the boy from One would most likely be able to scurry up the trees faster than Merry or Pippin could and would easily shoot them with his bow like all of those targets in the Training Centre.

Merry stepped out of the shower after he found a shampoo setting that smelt better than roses, and he held his hand to the static ball, that dried him off instantly. He checked through his wardrobe, and dressed in comfortable clothing before he ordered some food to eat. There was countless items that Merry could eat, and he picked one of each of them, and spent the remaining hours of the morning just nibbling on the food, and dreading the Games that he would soon become a player in.

Merry wished that time would just stop now, and that he would be forever in this room where Tributes of Ten's past had been before their deaths in the Games, and in some rare occasions, their victories. Merry knew that he wasn't going to get out of the Games, as he nibbled on the crescent roll, and took another sip of the tea in his hand. He knew that in the Games food was not going to be at his fingertips, but he was used to it at home. His heart panged when he thought of the home that he was never going to be able to return to, but he knew that being used to starving was one thing that he held above the Careers.

Finally, the sun rose, much to Merry's fear and discomfort, and shone its light into his window. Merry knew that this was going to be the last time that he was going to see the real sun, and he spent a decent time just staring at it, trying to get it into his memory. The last sun that he would ever see; he wondered if the people of Ten were also looking at this same sun, he wondered if it meant as much as it did to him as it did to them. Most likely it didn't; it was just something that they would see again tomorrow, and the next day, and the next day.

Merry suddenly felt robbed of the life that he should had otherwise had, and he felt the sorrow fill up in his heart. He tried to shake it off; he had accepted his death way before this emotion had taken over his heart, but now, he couldn't help think of how he would have been in the Town Square, watching as the clock counted down for the Tributes, and the large gong signalling the start of the Games. Now, he was going to be standing there, waiting for the clock to count down, and for his chance to run away from the Cornucopia and the battle that was to happen there.

Suddenly, he was brought down, and taken through hovercraft to the arena. He looked around at the other Tributes in which he shared this hover craft with, and he wondered how many were going to die in the first couple of seconds of the Games. They were the Tributes from Ten, Eleven and Twelve, all crammed on one hovercraft; getting their trackers injected into their arms. He looked at the girl from Twelve, who smiled at the girl from Eleven, before she winced as she got her tracker placed in her arm.

Merry didn't care for the tracker; it just swelled a little, and made him want to poke his arm. He studied the other people in the hovercraft; the eighteen-year-old from Twelve was looking at nothing, his eyes unfocused, his gaze steely. The two from Eleven, if the boy was even from Eleven; he looked nothing like most of the people from Eleven, were just quiet, looking down at their feet. Estella was writhing where she sat, whether it was out of excitement or nervousness. The girl from Twelve was quietly whimpering under her breath.

Merry wondered what he was like to them, probably just as a nervous wreck as everybody else. He wondered what Pippin was feeling right now; probably the same dread and nervousness that he was. Merry took in a deep breath, and then hoped for the better as the hovercraft landed, and they were all taken away to their stylist. It was here where Merry got to know what he was to wear for the rest of his life.

The pants were a camouflaged brown; with light and dark browns mingling with each other. They were baggy, but not enough to hinder movement. They had a few pockets in them, but nothing else special. His boots were soft leather, comfortable, and easy to run in. He had a shirt that was the colour of the dark brown of his pants, and a jacket that had green and black mingled together. He still couldn't decide what he may be facing, but he fidgeted with his shirt until he stepped into the tube and was brought up to where everybody else in the Games was.

Pippin looked around at the arena; trying to find where Merry was amidst all of the Tributes. He finally found him, across the circle from him, and Pippin knew that he was going to have to run up and meet him. He could only hope that he wasn't injured or killed when he tried to do so. After spending ten of the sixty seconds he had just to stand there looking for Merry, Pippin looked around at his surroundings.

They were in the middle of a valley that had grasses that were as tall as his shoulders. Surrounding him where large mountains that were covered with a mix of trees; more pine than anything else. The air was cold and crisp, like the fall in District Six, and there was a light breeze. From where Pippin was standing, he could see the Cornucopia gleaming bright in the artificial sun; most of the items surrounding it covered by the tall grass. Many streams came down from the snow of the mountains, pooling in a lake that Pippin could see from over his shoulder that separated the grasslands from the closest mountains from him.

But, Pippin knew that he wasn't going to be turning and running there; he had to go and meet up with Merry first, and perhaps get some food and maybe a slingshot or two from the Cornucopia. He knew that he had to find Merry as fast as he could, and then get out of there as soon as possible, or both of them would end up dead. Pippin itched forwards as the seconds began to count down; five... four... three... two... "LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, LET THE HUNGER GAMES BEGIN!"

Pippin jumped off of his landing, and then ran through the grass; noticing Merry doing the same. He could barely see Merry's head over the grass, and kept a look out for all of the other Tributes. Most of the Tributes paid him no mind; the boy from Twelve ran past him completely, though he did notice the boy look at him for a moment. Pippin found a backpack; a small one that he would open once he and Merry were in a safer place, and a slingshot that he was grateful to find.

That was when he ran into trouble. The girl from Ten; a tall girl that Merry said was after his blood. She already had a knife in her hand, and she brought the knife down at his head. Pippin ducked, and then kicked her as hard as he could in the stomach, before he continued to run away. He looked over his shoulder briefly to see her on her knees, wheezing, and for a moment, Pippin thought that he could have broken a couple of her ribs. He felt reassured that she wasn't going to go after him, until he smashed into somebody else.

Panicking, Pippin scrambled up, and held the bag over his head menacingly, ready to use whatever was inside it to attack the person he had just ploughed to the ground. He needed not to, however, for Merry was there on the ground, a small loaf of bread in his hands, looking up in terror of his opponent. Pippin relaxed momentarily, and then brought his hand down to help Merry up. Pippin held up the slingshot with a grin on his face, while Merry showed Pippin the bread a mirroring grin on his face.

Deciding that being sitting ducks amidst the bloodiest part of the Games wasn't exactly the most appealing thing to do, Pippin and Merry then began to make their way around to the mountains closest to them. They were lucky enough to have no new encounters with any other Tribute, and once they were on the slope of one of the mountains, they turned back to look at the Cornucopia. From what they could see, there were parts of grass that were flattened down in human shapes, and some of the grass was tipped with red. It swayed to and fro in the wind; not seeming to realize the murder that had happened in the field.

Finally, after they had taken a break from running, they inspected the small backpack that Pippin had retrieved. They were hungry, but they knew that they should not be eating the precious bread that Merry had gotten from the Cornucopia. In the bag, they found a small water skin, a bottle of water purifiers, matches, and a small knife. All of these items were in wrapped in a large, wool blanket. For a bag that was the size of a goose, it was a pretty good snag.

"Well... now what?" Merry asked as they packed it all back in. Pippin shook his head for a moment, before he got to his feet. They both knew that they needed to get farther away from the other Tributes as soon as possible, and they began to walk.

"I suppose we find something to eat now," Pippin said, a smile on his face. That was when he remembered the girl from Ten, and he figured he should tell Merry about her. She was his District partner, anyways. "Hey, Merry, when I was trying to get to you, I hit the girl from Ten."

"Estella? How're you still alive then?" Merry asked, in awe.

"I kicked her. I think I might have broken a couple of her ribs," Pippin told him, a thoughtful expression on his face as he did so. Merry's eyes widened as Pippin explained what happened in more detail, and he then patted Pippin on the shoulder.

"Now Estella's going to want to kill both of us sooner," Merry concluded, a laugh in his voice as he did so. Both Pippin and Merry grinned at each other, both secretly glad that they had made this alliance, as they began to pick up pebbles around them that would be useful for the slingshot that Pippin had retrieved. It was well past noon when finally, the cannons sounded off. They were loud, echoing, and they rebounded off of the mountains. Pippin and Merry stopped for a moment; looking up at the snow tipped mountain, wondering if the sound of the cannons could cause an avalanche.

At the end, they both counted eight Tributes that had died. It wasn't as many as what usually happened, but considering the fact that these were people who had been alive only hours ago, it weighed heavily on both Pippin and Merry's hearts. They knew that they were going to have to wait until the sky showed them who had fallen, and both of them were dreading what the sky was to tell. Pippin secretly hoped that Diamond was not dead yet; even though he knew that she was going to have to die for him to get out of these Games alive.

"Eight already..." Merry muttered as he looked at Pippin, "Well, sixteen more to go!"

"That's including ourselves, Merry!" Pippin exclaimed quietly, and they both had a little laugh. But, secretly, inside, they knew that they were going to be joining the death toll sooner or later.

Aragorn growled to himself as he rummaged through the items of the Cornucopia. Both he and the Greenleaf boy were there, since they were faster than most of the other Tributes, and they were not paying attention to anything else apart from themselves. Aragorn pulled out a backpack, a decent sized sword, and a whole net filled with apples, before he decided to depart from the bloodbath.

The other Careers, and a few bold Tributes had already started to hack away at the pile of supplies, and the girl from One threw a knife at Aragorn as he passed by. He easily dodged it, getting it lodged in his backpack, before he turned around and threw it back at her. His arms were full so his aim was not as good as it could have been, but the knife entered the girl's lower leg, and she shrieked a little as it did. Aragorn grinned a little, before he reached the grass, and then to the mountain closest to the lake.

He knew that he hadn't gotten any kills, but he didn't care. If he wanted to, all of the people at the Cornucopia could be dead already, and he would just have scout out all of the other people. That would be such a chore, Aragorn thought to himself; he'd rather that they would come to him. He did not go far from the Cornucopia, setting up camp near the large lake were all of the streams from the mountains connected to each other. It was here that Aragorn watched the bloodbath.

Having thrown back the knife, he had no projectile weapons as he looked through the large backpack and had to be wary if the Greenleaf was to shoot at him. There was a large blanket in it, made of fabric that reflected heat back in, a large metal bottle that was filled with a sweet smelling juice, a medical kit that had bandages gauze, some wire, and some pills in it, and a large string of knives, varying in sizes.

It was a rather good get; the bottle could be used again for water, and the medical kit was clearly something that he would find useful. The knives were something that he could use to throw, though he was better with a bow, and he had gotten very many apples from the net. He was set for these Games. He could trap any small animal that may inhabit the arena with the wire if he ran out of food, or, he could just get food from the sponsors he was sure to have.

He spent his time watching the Careers form in their pack; unfortunately for Aragorn, as well as all of the other Tributes, none of them had been killed in the bloodbath. The girl from One; the one that he had hit with a knife, was wailing as the Greenleaf pulled the knife from her leg, and bandaged it up. She complained the whole time, and her voice almost made Aragorn want to go over there and kill her at this moment. He held his restraint, for he then noticed somebody else down by the lake.

She looked like she may be the girl from Ten, though Aragorn could not see from the distance he was at. She had crawled her way to the lake to remain hidden in the tall grass surrounding the Cornucopia, the grass that stretched for at least a kilometre around it. As Aragorn looked closer, he saw that she also had a backpack on, and when she finally decided to stand, he also saw that she had a string of knives, much like he had himself, draped over her shoulder. Aragorn then knew he was right to assume that she would be a threat in these Games.

She looked over her shoulder at the Careers, before she then skirted around the lake, and up into the forest of the same mountain Aragorn was in. He knew that if he felt like it, he could kill her, but Aragorn was busy repacking his backpack, and he didn't get to his feet to slay her. There was still time, he thought to himself. The first day was about situating territory; Aragorn was curious of where the Greenleaf and girls were going to decide to set up their camp.

He watched as they talked to each other for a couple of minutes, before they then started to set up their camp right at Cornucopia. Aragorn guessed that they were just too tired of listening to the girl from One complain, and thought that they didn't need the cover of the trees to keep them safe like all of the other Tributes did. This large meadow of tall grass was their territory, and Aragorn knew that all of the other Tributes were going to stay in the mountains to avoid a direct attack from the Careers.

He knew that they were going to have to clear out for the bodies to be taken by the hovercrafts. Aragorn watched as the Careers suited up, leaving no guard of their supplies, and then disappeared into the woods. Aragorn thought it was foolish of them; if he didn't already have enough to haul around with him, Aragorn would have gone to steal some of the supplies. But, he then guessed that they thought nobody else would be close enough to steal them, and if they were, then they would have been able to kill them.

But they were wrong. Aragorn looked over, and watched as the dark-skinned girl from Eleven, and her ally from Twelve snuck back over to the stock pile, and shifted through it; not seeming to care to leave it in the same place. They both grabbed a backpack that Aragorn assumed was stuffed with food, before they disappeared back from where they came. Aragorn smiled at them; they were smart enough to know that the arrogance of the Careers would help them, and help them it did.

Aragorn took out one of his wire, and set up a couple of traps before he decided to scout out the area that would be his camp. He found a decent sized pine tree, and he climbed to a branch high enough to keep him safe from attacks, and sturdy enough to keep him in the tree. After nesting his pack and apples in the tree, Aragorn took a sip of his juice, before he set it in the pack, and climbed back down. He then spent the rest of the time tracing the girl from Ten's tracks before they disappeared into a small stream.

He knew that she was long gone, and not a threat to him currently. He then relaxed, shifting his sword from his hand to his belt again, as he then decided to scale his tree again. All seemed to be well for him; he really hadn't a worry in the world. Now, all he had to wait was for the Greenleaf to foolishly stumble across him alone, and he would certainly be the Victor of these Games.

Legolas stood on his metal circle, watching as the clock slowly counted down. He was quick and steady on his feet and would surely make it to the Cornucopia first. At the top of the Cornucopia, the only part he could really see over the grass, he saw a bow, along with a quiver of arrows that were sure to be his. He could not let the boy from Two, who could also shoot quite well, get them instead of him. He wasn't sure if there was another one, he couldn't see over the grass, but if there wasn't, losing the bow would mean that Legolas would lose the Games.

That was something that he was sure not to allow.

He readied himself to run. Whether it was the fact that he might lose the Games, or just the will to beat the boy from Two in something, Legolas knew that he had to get the bow. He would have otherwise tried to get to the Cornucopia, but most likely at a more leisurely pace than he was to be now. He would have still run for the supplies, but not with all the might that he could conjure. Legolas spared a glance around the Arena, and the ring of metal circles, finding where each and every member of his alliance was in comparison to him.

He had just focused back on the Cornucopia when the gong rang, and he leapt off of the metal circle and ran as fast as he could through the tall grass. He didn't care for the items that were on the ground; other people could fight out for them. All he needed was that bow, and he was set. He reached the pile just as the boy from Two did, but he paid him not mind. Legolas scrambled up, and grabbed the bow, grinning with his small victory, as he then turned to see his alliance making it to the pile as well.

The boy from Two grabbed a big bag of apples, a sword, and a large backpack, before he then started to disperse from the pile of supplies. Legolas watched as Sparkle threw a knife at the boy, missing terribly, and then as the boy threw it back at her. Secretly, Legolas wished that Sparkle would have just died and he wouldn't have to put up with her for the rest of the Games. However, with balancing a bag of apples, a backpack and a sword, the boy's aim was off, and it only got into her leg.

Sighing, Legolas perched himself on top of the Cornucopia and began to take Tributes out. He got the girl from Three right in the chest as she tried to pick up a small backpack. She didn't even have any time to whimper or scream before she toppled over. Legolas remained on the Cornucopia, sniping unaware Tributes and watching as some of them disappear into the woods with supplies, and some without. He nearly missed the boy from Five, who turned around and promptly gave Legolas the finger before he disappeared into the trees as well.

He watched as the girl from Ten fought her way to the supplies, and then grabbed herself a backpack, soon to lose it as Lobelia came charging at her. The girl dodged Lobelia's spear, and grabbed a string of knives before she began to make her way out from the Cornucopia. Legolas shot again, but the girl dove into the tall grass and was hidden from his view. Legolas growled under his breath as he took out the boy from Seven, a clean shot through the eye.

After what seemed to be hours, all of the fighters had either dispersed, or had been killed by Legolas's alliance, and the only sounds were Sparkle's loud complaints and the slick sway of the grass in the wind. Legolas jumped down to where Sparkle was now laying on the ground, and looked at the knife in her leg. Unfortunately, it was not in any place that would cause her to bleed to death if he left it unattended. Legolas groaned to himself, as he then bent down, and pulled the knife from her leg. Sparkle gave a shriek, and then began to whimper loudly.

Legolas almost killed her there, but Arwen walked over and put her hand on his shoulder. "Calm down, Legolas, it was not her fault."

"She could be quieter about it, though," Legolas grumbled, and Arwen gave him a small smile. She then walked over to Sparkle, already holding a long bandage and a medicine she had gotten from one of the packs. It took Arwen little time to wrap up Sparkle's leg, and give her the medicine to lessen the pain, and Legolas could see that her fingers were rather skilled with healing as she did so. It made him wonder what she did in her home District. But, Legolas could not afford to get close to Arwen when he knew that her demise would keep him alive.

"Where are we going to set up camp?" It was Lobelia who first asked this question, as she paced around the Cornucopia, a spear in her hands. "We need to decide so we can clear out so the bodies can be taken. Personally, I don't want to be spending time with dearest girly from Eight much longer." She gestured to the girl who had been practically torn to pieces by Lobelia and her spear and short sword.

"It was you who decided that ripping her limb from limb was a suitable way to kill her," Arwen commented, as she then began to wade through the packs, easily finding a tent. She brought it up, and began to read the instructions. "This will suit us. It sleeps four, but since one of us shall be on watch, there will be plenty room."

"Well, Arwen, they want bloody deaths, don't they?" Lobelia ignored Arwen's suggestion of the tent, and pushed back at her first statement. Lobelia had dried blood on her arms and face, and was looking rather annoyed at Arwen. Legolas groaned to himself; if they were to fight, he would not stop it. He'd let them kill each other, but at a cost; he needed them for now. They were much stronger together than they were on their own. If Arwen and Lobelia killed each other, Legolas would not haul Sparkle around any longer, though it would look very bad on him, he would probably just pin her to the ground with a sword through her leg and be done with it.

"I don't think that girl's family did," Arwen replied in a cool voice, before Lobelia made a lunge at her. Legolas grit his teeth, knowing that they were doomed for, when Sparkle stood up.

"Calm down guys," She said in her annoying voice, letting pain take hold of her vocal cords, making the voice quaver rather pathetically. "We should camp here, Arwen, and that is a good tent. I think we should go hunting for some Tributes that may have lingered." Legolas, personally, was surprised by her strategic speaking. But he still had to point out a flaw.

"We should guard the supplies," Legolas put in, but Sparkle shook her head. Arwen set up the tent by easily pressing a button as Sparkle spoke.

"Anybody stupid enough to linger around will be caught by us," Sparkle told him, and he sighed to himself. They left into the woods, all of them with weapons, and Legolas had a strange suspicion that their supplies were not as safe as Sparkle had suggested that they may be.

"The cannons haven't sounded yet. They usually do once people leave the area," Legolas said, but everybody ignored him. Legolas tried to keep calm about it, but he had a thought that bothered him until they returned; _**what if somebody had not left the area?**_

Sam had been fortunate enough to be placed beside Frodo on his metal circle when the gong sounded, and he quickly ran over to him, before they made their way through the tall grass towards the supplies, crouched down so the boy from One could not see them. Sam watched as the girl from Three; a girl that was rather wiry, and much too thin to be considered healthy, bent down to get a pack; her mousy brown hair falling in front of her face. Little did Sam know; this was the last thing that the girl would ever do. When she straightened up, an arrow protruded from her chest, and she fell to the ground.

It was clear that she would die, if she had not already, but Sam still had a horrible feeling as he pried the pack from her hands, which were slowly losing their warmth. She looked at him for a moment, tears in the corner of her eyes, causing Sam to pity the dying girl greatly. She reached out with her red hand, touching his hand, before hers fell to the ground. Sam knew that if this had not been the bloodbath, that a cannon would have sounded just then. Sam pulled the backpack over his back, as he slunk away in the grass, meeting back up with Frodo, who had his own backpack.

"What is it Sam? You look as though you've seen a ghost!" Frodo said, a lose grin on his face. All Sam could look at was the blood of the dead girl on his hand. He knew that if he was to reply to Frodo, he would have said that he had seen a ghost, and that he never wanted to see another one in his life. But Sam knew if he wanted to get out of these Games, then he most certainly would be seeing more of them.

"It's nothing, Frodo, nothing at all," Sam finally managed to get out, but by this time, they were already going up the slope of the farthest mountain from the Cornucopia. Unlike the other mountains, this one was blackened near the top, and had hardly any trees covering them. Sam knew that they were in good cover though, for he was certain that no other Tributes would have wanted to go onto this one mountain.

They made good distance, but they were soon nearing the end of the tree line, which came much sooner than the other mountains, and Sam knew that they were either going to have to stop and make camp, or that they were going to have to take the risk and venture further up the mountain. Sam did not want to go any farther than they already were; he had a bad feeling about this mountain, and he wanted to get off of it.

Frodo, however, would hear none of it. He already knew that this mountain was clearly something that would keep Tributes away, and it would be a good place for them to last out the Games. Nobody would want to climb a mountain that did not ensure that there would be food or decent shelter, when it would be the perfect place for them to be. Frodo had to admit that he was in a good place, even though Sam did not want to.

They decided to stop at the edge of the tree line, and take a break, when the cannons sounded across the arena. Sam's eyes darkened when he realized that every single one of these was a Tribute that had died. It hurt him to think that these people were already dead; and he knew that the girl from Three had been symbolized by this cannon. It seemed to be so much more real than before; the girl actually seemed to be dead now.

Before, it seemed as though it was a dream, but as the cannons finally stopped, the realness of the Games, and the fact that the girl, whose blood was still on Sam's hands, was actually dead. Unmoving, cleaned up, wearing simple clothes, in the arms of a simple wooden box; heading back to her home, and her family. Sam was, in a way, jealous of the girl. She had not fear anymore; she was at her home. Sam wanted to go home, but he knew that either he would have to kill, or be killed if he wanted to do that.

After counting eight, Sam and Frodo looked into their bag. There wasn't much in it; a couple of knives, which Sam would find extremely useful, and some bread-like thing. Frodo picked it up, and then smiled. "We have this at home, sometimes. It's called lembas. I guess we are going to have to get used to it."

Sam could already tell that he was going to hate lembas with a passion. Frodo laughed as Sam then glared at the lembas, and looked at the small box of medical items. There wasn't very much; there were only a couple of pills and a few bandages, but it would do for now. He packed their bag, keeping the knives on him, and that was when he realized that there was still the girl from Three's blood on the pack. Sam suddenly felt guilty that he stole from her, and that he did not even know her name.

"That's pretty good," Frodo said, as he began to look through his own pack. The only difference between his pack and Frodo's was the fact that there was a small blanket instead of knives. There was more lembas, and another medical kit that had the identical amount of pills and bandages. Sam groaned; he was hoping that there would be something other than lembas in the bags, but there was nothing more. "We're the same."

"I wonder why they gave us the blanket..." Sam muttered, looking at the fabric, wondering what it possibly meant. Frodo just shrugged, as they looked around where they were currently camping for a place for them to safely sleep. Though there may not be any Tributes on this mountain, it was clear that there could be some sort of animal that could be a danger to him or Sam, and sleeping out in the open was like a fire in the night; a sure sign to ask somebody to come and kill them. Frodo, as reckless as he was being to Sam, at least had a working brain in his head.

"We should find a place to rest," Frodo suggested, as he packed up the bag, and slung it over his shoulder. He looked around the area; there was no tree that would really suit the both of them, for they were all too sparse, out in the open, and their branches much too thin to be able to support the both of them. Frodo did not want to be known as idiot who was killed in the Games because he led his ally and himself up into a tree that was not strong enough to hold them, and they both crashed to the ground and broke their necks. No, Frodo was much smarter than that, and he certainly did not hint at that in his interview for no reason whatsoever.

Frodo then looked to the divots in the black mountain's face. Some of them looked as though they were caves, and as though they could hide two relatively small people like Sam and himself. He knew that they were going to have to scope out the area for any sign of a mutt that could have made its home there, but Frodo was just happy to find a place for them to spend the night.

They would still have to get to them though; and Sam was already almost dead on his feet. They had traveled a fair distance that day, but Frodo knew that just a little bit more would make it so that they would be safe; at least for another day. Frodo twisted his ring on his finger, while he looked out at the forest below. Through the trees, he could see the yellow-green mix of the grasses, and he wondered what it would be like to be camping in them.

Frodo certainly would not have wanted to do so. The grassland was in the valley of the mountains; all of them looking down on it like it was something lesser than they were, but still magnificent in its own way. Lower land, however, meant that whoever decided to camp there was at a severe disadvantage to those on the mountains, and the fact that they were out in the open all of the time meant that they were more victim to the elements than the rest of them.

Frodo thanked the stupidity of any Tribute who decided to camp there. It would mean that they would probably whether away in their grass, and it would mean that he would be able to win the Games much easier than he already planned. Though, Sam was really a hindrance, he could not get rid of him yet; Sam still had a part to play in these Games. Frodo needed Sam, like he needed the stupidity of the Tributes to survive these Games. Sam may be what Frodo considered a waste of food, and he may have been something restraining Frodo from moving, but he was going to be a rather decent body guard when the time came.

"Come on, Sam, I've found a place for us to stay," Frodo told him, pulling Sam up by his arm. Sam sighed, and then tightened the straps of his backpack; hoping that whatever place Frodo had chosen to stay was good enough for him to get some well-needed sleep. Sam soon found out, however, that it would not be.

The cave that Frodo had seen was a small crack in the mountain that seemed to stretch on forever in the darkness. Sam felt rather uneasy as they stepped into the cave and saw some small animal bones in the corner. He gulped; if there was a choice between sleeping in the open where the Tributes could find him, and a choice of sleeping in this cave that most certainly hosted some sort of monster, Sam would pick the outside world. Frodo, however, seemed rather pleased with his retail choice.

It was dark, secluded, and it was certain that a human had never been in it before. Sam then had a small smile appear on his face when he realized that he and Frodo were the first people to ever wander into this cave; and most likely they were going to be the last.

Boromir, as strong as he was, did not even try to get into the bowels of the Cornucopia. He knew that dying on the first day would crush Faramir, but it would also injure his pride. He also didn't want to be one of the final Tributes, for the hope that perhaps he may win in Faramir would crush him when Boromir eventually died. He shook these thoughts out of his head, as he picked up a loaf of bread, and a knife, before he retreated back into the mountain behind him. For a couple of seconds, he watched through the trees, looking at the bloodbath, and at the boy from One, who was taking out so many people with his bow.

Boromir wondered if that boy realized that every shot he took; every one that he got, was another life that crashed down towards the earth. He wondered if the boy knew that he was killing innocent children; people who may have been great if they were not forced to participate in such a vile thing. But, Boromir knew that pity was not a mindset that he was to have, though he would fall victim to it later on.

He made his way up the trees; being vaguely reminded of his home; with the tall coniferous trees surrounding him, and the cold mountain air surrounding him. He knew that it would only get worse at night, and he hoped that his jacket would prevent him from at least freezing to death on the first night. As at home he felt, he still missed Faramir greatly, and spent his time just playing with the bracelet that he had gotten from the boy.

He then knew that his next option was food; he couldn't afford to consume his bread just yet. Boromir had not gotten anything that may had helped him make traps, and the only thing he truly did receive that was useful to him at this moment was his knife. He carved out a layer of bark from a tree, and then shaved some pine off. It was a trick that his father had taught him a long time ago, before their mother had died from an illness. Boromir found it easy to eat the pine; it was something he enjoyed eating, even more so than the food that he received in the Capitol. This food reminded him of home, and that was enough to keep it down, as he continued to walk; trying to remember if any of these plants were edible.

Boromir found a blackberry bush, and rolled the berries around in his hands for a couple of seconds before he then decided that they were, indeed, blackberries, and he plopped one into his mouth. He was relieved when he found that they truly were blackberries, and that he wasn't to die as early on as he was thinking that he might. He loaded one of his pocket with enough to keep him going, and made a mental note to remember where this bush was.

Boromir then realized how odd he must have looked to the other Tributes if they were to wander upon him. He had a knife in his belt, and a loaf of bread in his hands. The juice from the berries, though pinkish in tinge, and not looking red as it could be, could pass off as blood. Boromir allowed a smile to appear on his face when he thought, he was Boromir; feared slayer of the dreaded wild bread. He found himself chuckling as he looked for a tree that would be able to sustain his weight for the night.

He was climbing a rather tall coniferous tree; a white pine he thought, which had kept branches low enough for him to hoist himself up, and covered enough to hide him, when the cannons started. He almost fell out of the tree out of shock at them, but, (and he knew that he was going to regret this) he grabbed hold of the trunk, and hugged the tree to prevent his fall. When he pulled back, he was covered in pitch, and he hoped that the Game Makers would not suddenly get the urge to light a forest fire, for he would catch fire much easier with this pitch covering his clothes, hair and face.

His worries of a fire disappeared as he heard the cannons stop, and counted eight people dead. It struck him as a strange sense of loss, but Boromir knew that he could not do anything to prevent it from happening; nor could he do anything to prevent the deaths of any of these other Tributes. They were all pigs lined up for slaughter; none of them had done nothing but live, and now, they were to be killed for no reason. Though pigs were murdered to create food; these people, Boromir included, were to be murdered for entertainment. A sick feeling stuck in his stomach when he realized that he may just be known across Panem for his death.

He carved off some more pine, as night began to fall, and he made himself a strange sort of sandwich with the pine and blackberries. It didn't taste as good as he originally planned it to, but it was something to take the edge off of his hunger as the fake stars began to form across the sky, and Boromir waited and watched it for the sign of the anthem and the faces of the dead Tributes.

He dreaded it; to be honest. Though curiosity of Ioreth's state made him want to see the sky; though he didn't want her to be dead, he knew that it was to happen eventually. He also wanted to know who else made it through the Games, and he held his breath as the anthem blared across the area. The Capitol's symbol flashed across the screen brought in by hovercraft, before the faces appeared. First were the girl from Three, and then her District Partner. So, Boromir though, the Careers had made it. Next was the two from Seven; then the two from Eight, and then the two from Nine. The screen flashed back to the Capitol symbol, and the night sky went dark.

Birds' songs returned; the quiet, soothing sound of their singing, creeping over the mountain, and bringing a terrible cold with it. Boromir shivered to himself, but he knew that lighting a fire would be suicide, and he did not want to join the faces in the sky quite yet. He fell asleep to troubled thoughts, and memories of his little brother.

Gimli growled to himself as he pulled up an axe from the pile of the Cornucopia, and dragged a backpack away. Turning around, he watched as Freya reappeared from the grass, for she was so short it covered her completely, and as she scampered off into the woods. Deciding that his stay was much long overdue, Gimli attempted to get away from the bloodbath. He tried to ignore the screams of the girl from Eight, who had been pinned to the ground by the girl from Four's spear by her stomach, and was now being torn up by the same girl's knives.

Though Gimli knew that this was the Hunger Games, he knew that killing somebody as so was unnecessary. Sure, it would make the girl from Four seem like a ruthless killer and may entice sponsors to pay for supplies for her; but Gimli thought about the people back in the Districts. Seeing something like this would make the rift between the Districts grow even more, and any chance of freeing future generations from this torture would lessen with each brutal killing. Those who treated the Games as a game were people that Gimli hated in a way. The Games may be called a game, but they were certainly not one; games were made for the enjoyment of the players, not to murder them all.

He was just at the beginning of the trees, when an arrow swished past his ear, and stuck into the nearest pine. Gimli whirled around to see the boy from One standing on the Cornucopia, his bow trailed on Gimli. The boy from Five narrowed his eyes at him and then promptly stuck out his middle finger. He held it there for a couple of moments, before he turned back into the woods, knowing that he probably caused many of the Capitol, and District watchers alike to laugh, and probably causing Balin, his mentor, to cringe inside a little. His father probably hid back in their house and pretended that Gimli, indeed, was not his son.

Knowing that all of his District's faith in him had probably disappeared as soon as Gimli decided to lift that one finger, Gimli set off into the woods. This mountain was large; the air was clean and cool, and it was almost a pleasant walk when Gimli forgot about the twenty-three (well, the girl from Eight was certainly dead, so twenty-two) other people who were currently wanting to kill him. He watched as black squirrels danced among the trees, squabbling back and forth, and as birds flittered around, singing to themselves as they did so.

He saw a flash of red, and for a second, he thought it was a brightly coloured bird. But, as he trained his eyes on it longer, he saw that it was a human being; in fact, it was Freya. She had nothing in her hands, for she had run away from the Cornucopia without even caring to pick up an object, and she was currently bent down, gathering some sort of plant that must have been edible. Gimli took a small step forward, accidentally stepping on a stick, and causing an ear-splitting snap to erupt from it. Gimli almost face-palmed; he might as well set off a bomb and sparkler telling Freya where he was.

Her head snapped upwards, her eyes straining to see something in the woods, but Gimli had hidden himself behind a young, rather bushy, pine, and if she had seen him at all, it would only the faint redness of his hair through the dark green needles of the tree. Gimli watched as she shoved some of the plant in her pocket quite hurriedly, and then, without making a sound, got to her feet, and ran off in the opposite direction. Gimli smiled to himself; she might as well have been a ghost, she was so quiet.

After he knew that she was gone, he walked over and looked at the plant that she had been gathering. Strangely enough, it was a purple flower that looked much like one of the fabric balls that his mother used to stick her needles in. Except, the needles were replaced by a purple, fleshy part of a flower, and it reminded Gimli of a pom-pom. He picked one gently, and he then, finally, remembered its name; clover. He tried to remember the use of it, but could not figure it out. Sighing to himself, he pocketed the plant, and then continued his walk up the slope.

He stopped about two hours after he had seen Freya, and decided to look into his bag. What was in it was some dried fruit, an empty plastic container, a decent length of rope, a blanket, and lastly, a pair of strange goggles. Gimli thought that perhaps they were sunglasses, but when he put them on, he could hardly see anything. He wondered what they could be used for, but he knew that they were not completely useless; nothing that the Game Makers gifted the Tributes with was something useless. He knew that though they seemed useless now, these goggles would come of use eventually.

After, he knew that he was to find one of the streams he had seen coming down from the mountains, for dying of dehydration was not something that was on the top of Gimli's list of what to do in the near future. Luckily for him, it seemed as though the Game Makers did not want to watch as the Tributes dehydrated to death, for Gimli found a stream with ease. He knew that the water would be fine for him to drink, for it came from the snow off the mountain, and would most likely be the cleanest thing out here. He also tried to reassure himself with this fact because he had nothing to purify the water with.

He took sips of the water, finding it cool and pleasant on the tongue, before he continued his way up the mountain. He found a tumble of rocks that seemed as though they would suit him well for the night, when the cannons resounded across the arena. Gimli imagined what Panem was to see; each cannon sounding, a flash image of the Tribute's corpse would show across the screen. He didn't know how all of these Tributes died, but he knew that most of them were killed by the pretty boy from One.

Thinking about how they were dead was unsettling for Gimli, but seeing them in the sky made it much worse. He looked at the people's faces; all of them, dead, as they flashed for a couple of seconds each, and then disappeared. He remembered a couple of things about them; like how the girl from Three smiled at him in the Training Centre even though they were doomed to die, and how the boy from Seven was always at the axe station with him. Gimli looked down at his axe, and knew that he was lucky to be alive.

He was about to close his eyes and fall asleep when an alienated shrieking sound filled the air.

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks to butterflyninja935, LilyMaeve, and K9olaquia for reviewing! <strong>**Do you like how I did this chapter? As in the fact that I only showed Merry's reaction before the Games, and let it flow? I also have a question; should I give the girls some writing time? I have plans for them, but I'm not quite sure you'd like to see them. Thanks for reading, and please review!**


	8. And Then There Were 15

_**~One Game to rule them all,  
><strong>__**One Game to find them,  
><strong>__**One Game to bring them all,  
><strong>__**And may the odds be ever in your favour~**_

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><p>Gimli shot forwards, reaching for his axe, and hoping that whatever had made that terrible sound would not find him. He peaked over a bolder to see a human-like figure, dressed in black robes that swept around him. They looked rather ragged, like strips of fabric had been sown on at different lengths, and there was a hood covering its face. Every time it took a step, a clinking sound would emit from the metal boots it wore. In its hand was a long, crooked sword made of a darken metal. Gimli hid behind the rocks again, and held his breath; he hoped to whatever gods that may be out there that this mutt would not see him.<p>

These Games, Gimli had to admit, were probably the strangest ones to ever happen. Never before had the Game Makers created mutts that resembled humans; Gimli just hoped that they were not as smart as humans were, and that they couldn't find him. He would be finished if they did. His axe against that mutt's sword would not be a good defense; in fact, he would most likely be killed in the process.

Gimli allowed himself another peak as he looked up at the mutt, who was walking away in a different direction. Gimli almost sighed in relief, when he heard another scream, and saw that there, indeed, was another one by the other side of his rocks. Gimli took in a shuddering breath, but he then heard a rustling that was not made by either the mutt, or his own feet. Looking up he saw, gleaming in the synthesized moonlight, a large, wolfish beast that was at least the size of bear, and hunched over much like one.

The black-cloak mutt shrieked at the over-large wolf, and then spun off in a different direction. Gimli knew that he was going to have to get out of this place, and spotted a decent sized climbing tree nearby. He knew that if he wanted to make it out alive, he was going to have to run as fast as he possibly could to reach the tree, and then climb high enough before the mutt could make it to the tree. He grimaced at the thought of the mutt grabbing him by his leg, and ripping him from the tree, to then tear him apart with ease.

He knew that he only had one shot at this, and he quietly folded his blanket and shoved it in his backpack. He looked up again; the mutt seemed to be distracted by another scent, and was not walking in Gimli's direction. Gimli's eyes did not leave the mutt as he slung his backpack over his shoulder as silently as he possibly could. The mutt began to walk off into another direction, before it broke out into a run, and disappeared. Gimli slumped to the ground, and ran a hand through his hair. _**Well, **_he thought to himself; _**that was anticlimactic. **_Under his breath, he then thanked every god that he knew.

After his little thanking session, Gimli decided that going up in the tree would be a better idea than just staying on the ground like a sitting duck. He knew that he wasn't safe on the ground anymore, and as much as he hated climbing trees, he knew that it would most likely save his life when he needed it to. Gimli now knew that there was no possible way that he was going to spend his nights on the ground with those mutts roaming around. Gimli quietly made his way over to the tree, and then spent a little time climbing up the first couple of branches in silence. As he drew farther and farther away from the ground and higher into the air, he began to climb faster, not really caring that he was making a little more noise than he should. He stopped when he was high enough for his comfort, but low enough to not have to worry about the branches breaking underneath his feet.

Gimli soon realized that it was much colder and a little harder to breathe in the tree. Shivering, he pulled out his blanket, and wrapped it around his body. Immediately felt warmer, and he knew that getting the bag was worth it; even though he had to lift a finger to do so. He wondered if anybody was freezing to death currently; or if there was somebody who was currently fighting off one of those mutts. Strangely, he hoped that there wasn't somebody dying currently; there had already been eight children mercilessly murdered today, there didn't need to be anymore. But Gimli knew that there would be, as his eyelids grew heavy, and he was carried off into an uneasy sleep.

He woke to the uneasy sway of the large tree he was in; the parts of his body where he was sprawled across the tree rather sore. He stretched carefully; not wanting to hurt himself as he climbed down the tree. He knew that living in a tree would be the death of him if the Tributes, mutts and starvation would not. He hated it already, and it was only the first night, and now, his second day. The artificial sun peaked out behind artificial clouds, and a cool morning breeze ruffled Gimli's hair as he looked up at the sun.

Hunger rumbled through his stomach, and he looked around for anything that may have been edible. That was when he remembered the clover. Something about it must have been edible, or useful at least. He pulled it out to find it dishevelled and wrinkled, but still something that resembled the flower somewhat. He looked at it for a moment, and tried to remember what it was for. He looked at it for a couple of minutes, and then sighed. Perhaps Freya had just been picking them to throw off some of her enemies; perhaps it was really a poisonous plant. But, Freya seemed to be surprised to hear that somebody was so near, so it seemed unlikely that it was merely a trap.

This infuriated Gimli; though he didn't let it show on his face. He was frustrated by the fact that he had something that he could eat, but didn't know how to eat it. He began to pull out some of the flower's soft, small petals, one at a time, in an effort to calm himself. That was when he remembered; his father and him sitting in the forest area of District Five, pulling out the purple petals and sucking on the end of them. He did the same now; it wasn't as sweet as he remembered, but he decided that he would just chew on them to hold off hunger until he found something that was edible, or he broke down and nibbled on some of his dried fruit.

Gimli then remembered that this, indeed, was the being hungry part of the Hunger Games, when a loud cannon echoed across the arena.

Legolas was still fuming because a couple of Tributes had walked into their camp when they had left and stolen two backpacks. He was secretly plotting Sparkle's death; trying to figure out ways to make it seem like it was an accident so Lobelia and Arwen would still trust him. The cannon sound shocked them all; bringing Sparkle from her sleep, and causing Lobelia to jolt upwards and grab her spear.

Arwen's eyes narrowed in confusion at this; had Aragorn killed another Tribute that had wandered by, and if he had then how? The other question that was bothering all of the Tributes currently was the question of who had died, and how. There was one thing bothering all of the Career Tributes currently, though; and that was the fact that they were not the ones to deal out a death.

"Who do you think has died?" Lobelia asked, looking around for any sign of a Tribute perhaps in the meadow, stepping on one of the traps that they had set up.

"Hopefully the boy from Two," Legolas replied, as he set his bow down. It was clear that whoever had died had not done so near to them, and there was no threat to them. He cast a glare at Sparkle, who chose to ignore it as she then sat up. She reached over and took an apple; taking a rather large bite into it and chewing it in a rather unattractive manner. Legolas wrinkled his nose at her, but then turned away, looking out at the mountains. Legolas then commented; "We should go hunting."

"Indeed, there is nothing else to do here," Arwen replied, before she then began to rewrap Sparkle's wound. Legolas was tempted to just tell Arwen to let Sparkle's wound get infected and just allow her to die. Even at one hundred percent, Sparkle was still not the strongest ally. There was the boy from eleven who could throw knives equally as well as Sparkle could. The only advantage she had was being healthy, and having enough to eat all of her life; but her healthy advantage had been destroyed when the boy from Two, Aragorn- that was what Arwen had called him (though Legolas refused to call him that) had gotten Sparkle with the very knife she threw at him. To Legolas, she was useless, and frankly, it was embarrassing to have a District Partner who was injured by her own knife.

Legolas then found a use for Sparkle. "You can stay and watch the supplies, Sparkle; or are you so determined that our supplies are definitely safe now?" He had added the last part in a rather cheeky, dark, tone. He was sure that it would most likely create a lot of drama in the Capitol, but, he was still angry with her for allowing the supplies to be stolen. Arwen finished wrapping up Sparkle's leg; noticing that the girl was about to explode, she reached into her bag, and then handed her a bottle of water and some medicine.

"Take these and the pain will go away," Arwen told her, and Sparkle did just that. After a couple of minutes, Sparkle was flat-out unconscious, and Legolas sighed in relief. Arwen, however, wore an unimpressed expression, and Legolas knew that it was directed in his general direction. Legolas returned it with a raised eyebrow before Arwen began to speak, "You two are going to kill each other! If you go at each other's throats, I'm not stopping you. I'm sure Lobelia won't either."

Lobelia grinned at this, as she picked up one of her spears. She balanced it lightly in her hand, before she threw a practice shot. It stuck in the ground about seven metres away, and she then said, "No, I won't stop you, but I'll be cheering you on, Legolas. That bitch just needs to die; it'd do the world a favour." Lobelia walked over to her spear, and ripped it from the ground. Legolas gave a small laugh as the girl from Four walked over, and pretended to spear Sparkle's unconscious body. Lobelia thrust her spear back into the ground, and leaned on it, before commenting, "Her parents are probably cursing our names."

"You two are so immature," Arwen said as she rolled her eyes. "I'll stay behind with Sparkle, seeing as you two are most likely going to kill Sparkle. How about you guys work on killing other Tributes before you start working on destroying this alliance before the Games have truly begun."

"Nine tributes are gone; and one of those wasn't killed because of us," Lobelia said, an annoyed frown taking her face as she thought about the cannon shot earlier. "Who knows what's waiting for us. I'll take a pack with us, in case we can't come back tonight. Have fun with _Sparkle, _Arwen," Lobelia said Sparkle's name like it was a disease, before she then grabbed a pack full of food.

"I'll take one too, Lobelia," Legolas said, as he grabbed a small, green backpack that had been loaded up with dried fruit, meat, and a couple of pieces of bread. He made sure that they both had a canister of water, before he loaded up his quiver to as full as it could get, and belted in some long, white knives. Lobelia raised her eyebrows at the long knives, never seeing Legolas using them, but she was certain that no matter what weapon that Legolas picked up, he would be able to use it to some degree.

They departed into a different part of the mountain woods this time; the part farthest from the lake. Legolas gripped his bow a little tighter as they began to climb up the slope; hoping that they would find a Tribute, and that this trip would not be completely wasted. It was only the second day, so Tributes would not have gotten too far away from the grassland of the Cornucopia, but Legolas did not know what was over these mountains; perhaps there was grassland, or maybe there were more mountains.

Lobelia seemed oblivious to Legolas's thoughts, as they quietly searched the mountain for any signs of a trail that may have been left behind by an unaware Tribute. They carefully found a pair of tracks, and began to follow them. They spent at least a couple of hours following the trail, only to lose it once the tracks disappeared into the river. They searched the other side of the river for more tracks, but the Tributes must have travelled down the river to hide them. Lobelia took the one side of the river, while Legolas took the other, and they looked for the point in which the tracks reappeared.

After travelling a good two kilometres down the river, there were no new tracks, and they both decided that it was time for a break. Legolas grudgingly ate his dried meat, as Lobelia thrust her spear into the nearest tree out of frustration. They had spent so much time looking for these Tributes, only to find that it was wasted. It seemed as though the Tributes of these Games weren't as stupid as Legolas originally thought. It was infuriating to waste their precious time for nothing; it annoyed Legolas that this was all spent in vain.

There was then the sound of a twig snapping; and a small curse from quiet lips. Lobelia ran over as quietly as she could, and wrenched her spear from the tree as Legolas readied his bow. They both grinned at each other, finally realizing that this was not a wasted trip. They looked at each other, knowing that it was going to be a competition of who got the first kill.

When Pippin awoke, he was covered in cold dew, and shivering. The night had been cold, and he was very grateful for the blanket that had been in the backpack that Pippin had obtained at the Cornuco0ia. He was also grateful for the warmth that Merry had provided to him during the night. The body warmth that Merry provided was a rather unexpected perk to their alliance. He looked around at their hiding place; they were in a grove of fallen pine trees; the branches shielding them from any unwanted eyes.

But, even though they knew that their sleeping place was a rather good hiding place, they hardly got any sleep. They could hear the scuffling around their hiding place; the metal click shoes, and the shrieking of the mutts kept them up the whole night. The worse of them all was the pained cries that some sort of animal that had made during the middle of the night. They held onto each other, hiding their feared cries, and both of them trying to calm down their shaking bodies. This was a terrible Hunger Games, Pippin knew that for sure; so terrible that he had only gotten a couple of hours of sleep.

He looked at Merry, and noticed that the boy from Ten was still sleeping. Not wanting to wake him up, Pippin then looked around for anything that they could eat. He saw a bush of dark berries that he remembered being edible from the Training Centre, and he was so captivated by them that he almost stepped on the mangled corpse of an animal. He noticed the smell just before he put his foot down on the bloodied corpse. He gave a shocked little shriek, and he jumped back from the remains of the animal. He couldn't even think of what the animal could have been until he saw the antlers. It must have been a deer, he reckoned, but it no longer looked like one.

He had to fight to keep in the little amount of food that was left in his body. _**At least it isn't a person, **_he tried to reassure himself; trying to make the situation seem much better than what it really was. He found it terrible, and the thought of eating the berries had completely slipped his mind. He began to walk backwards back to the grove of pines, and collided with them much sooner than he thought he would. It was then when he now realized that they had both been so close to death.

He made his way back to Merry, unable to keep the shaking out of his legs. No matter how hard he wanted to look away from the mangled corpse of the deer, he had a hard time not being able to. Merry had awoken when Pippin gave his small, startled shout, and had the slingshot ready for attack. Realizing that there was nobody else, Merry then lowered the slingshot, and gave Pippin a small smile. Looking at Pippin's face, Merry saw that there was certainly something wrong with the thirteen-year-old from Six. "Pip, what's wrong?"

Pippin couldn't speak; his voice was lost in his throat, and he just made a gesture towards the pile of blood and bones. Merry raised an eyebrow at him, as the boy slowly sunk to the ground. The thought of his death being so close had finally consumed him. He was going to be dead, like that deer was over there, in only a couple of days, at the least, and finally realizing that he may end up as mangled and unrecognizable as that deer made him unable to even think properly.

Merry walked over to the corpse, and he looked for anything that they may possibly be able to salvage. He also had a hard time looking at it, and finding out how close the mutts had truly been made it certain that they were not going to be sleeping in that grove of pine trees for the next night. Merry frowned when he realized that there was nothing that they could possibly eat from this corpse; anything that might have provided then with any nutrients was already gone. Merry noticed the berries that Pippin most likely was going to get before he had noticed the deer, and then stripped the bush of them.

When he returned, Pippin was still sitting on the ground, but this time, he had his arms wrapped around his knees, and he was looking out at the fake sun. Merry gave him a small nudge, and dumped a load of berries into Pippin's hands. Pippin gave Merry a rather forced smile, but he chose to eat them. Merry sat down next to Pippin, and took a mouthful of his own berries; the juice running down his chin. Pippin raised his eyebrows at him, and then said, "Slob," in the most disgusted tone that he could muster. His voice was still a bit shaky, but Merry found it entertaining.

"Ah, so you say, but in reality, I am the more attractive of us two," Merry said slyly after he had swallowed his mouthful. Pippin playfully threw a berry back at Merry, who caught it before it hit the ground. Merry raised his eyebrows at him, and then Pippin gave him a pouty face and struck an intimate pose.

"Clearly your view is clouded, for I certainly am the sexiest of us both," Pippin said in a rather false-sounding husky tone. Merry couldn't hold in it, and burst out into laughter. Pippin brought his arms down, and then whispered to Merry, covering his mouth with his hands so the cameras hopefully weren't able to pick it up, "They are probably going to make poll about this back in the Capitol. I bet I'll win." Leaning back, he then gave Merry a rather suggestive wink.

Merry rolled his eyes at this, but he did not doubt the fact that the Capitol people were probably going to do so. He wore a small smile on his face, not only because what Pippin had done was rather funny in a situation like this, but also because he was glad that he had made Pippin feel better. In the week that Merry had known Pippin, he had already become good friends with him; it was more than just an alliance. Merry knew that there would be no way that he would be able to betray Pippin, and that Pippin would be able to betray him; they were just too close of friends. Merry never wanted to see Pippin dead; he would rather that he died before he had to deal with that pain. Merry knew that if they made it to the final two, then they would most likely just have to depart, and hope that some wild animal wouldn't take them.

"Come on then, most sexiest of our alliance, lead the way!" Merry exclaimed in a hushed whisper, and then Pippin groaned, as he stood up. They went over and packed up their blanket, before Merry slung the backpack over his shoulders. Pippin, wielding a pocket full of rocks and the slingshot, was then startled by the large cannon sound. He jolted backwards, a bunch of rocks spilling out of his pocket, and he accidentally stepped on Merry's foot. "Ouch, Pip!"

"Sorry, it startled me," Pippin told him, before he got an idea. Grinning, he walked over to the mangled corpse, and then took the antlers away from the body. He found the hooves, and then also hid them in a bush. He fought to keep in his berries as he did this, but he then turned to Merry and grinned, "Now anybody who walks here might think it was a Tribute, and they'll probably turn around!"

"Good thinking Pippin!" Merry said, looking at the pile of blood. It looked like nothing anymore, and if a Tribute really did get ripped to pieces, the Capitol would not be able to take every single square inch; especially if they were as ripped as this deer had been. It was a perfect ploy to keep the other Tributes off of their trail; hopefully even the Career Tributes would be as wary as any normal Tribute if they saw something like this. They walked past the deer, and hopefully into a direction that would keep them safe.

They continued to walk in silence, occasionally finding things that were edible, and munching on them as they went. There were never any disturbances in their walking, as they stopped to take a break by a stream. They were wary as they sipped on the water; knowing that the stream would certainly draw other Tributes near them.

Merry looked down the stream, and then turned his attention to the stream above them. Seeing no immediate Tributes in the area, he then deemed it safe enough to sit and drink. He felt reassured for a couple of minutes, but he knew that since they were sitting at a water source, there was no way that it could be assured that it was safe here.

Pippin and Merry decided that they were going to leave this place, when Merry's misplaced foot stepped on a twig, causing a rather loud snap in the quiet woods of the arena.

Boromir had heard the cannon as well, but he did think that no Tribute would be able to not hear it, unless, of course, they had fallen into a coma. It was a loud, echoing boom that shook the needles in the tree that he was in. Boromir had to admit, he was grateful that it wasn't his cannon, but he was struck with a sadness; knowing that this meant that somebody else had died. He didn't want to dwell on it any longer, and decided to go back to the berry bush he had noticed earlier in pursuit of some food.

It did not take him long to return to the bush, but what he found there was something rather shocking. He looked at the bloody pile of mangled bones and flesh, and wondered for a moment if it that had been the Tribute who had just died. Paranoia swept in, as Boromir looked over his shoulder to see what mutt could have possibly done this. If this was a former Tribute, the mutt that killed it would have been nearby, and that would put Boromir at risk. He had heard scuffling around last night, though it did seem as though the mutt could not climb trees.

Boromir decided to inspect the area around the pool of blood, and he walked upon a grove of fallen pines. Looking down in it, he saw distinct signs that there had been somebody sleeping in it; a rather large Tribute, if Boromir had to say, but he soon realized that it could have been more than one Tribute. He then looked back at the bloody pile. There had only been one cannon; if this was the cause of death, then the other Tribute who was sleeping here as well would be running for their lives away from the mutts. Boromir sighed in relief when he realized that he was most likely safe, but he was still suspicious of the pile.

He walked back to it, and then looked at the remaining bones. Though most of them were crushed, they were much too large to be a Tribute and he supposed that it was perhaps a moose or a deer. There were no antlers in sight, and Boromir then realized that whoever had been sleeping here had set this up as something to look like a person's death. Boromir smiled to himself; if he had not seen deer just outside the fence of District Twelve, he would have never been able to identify it. The ploy was a good one; it would have tricked just about everybody else. Everybody but him, Boromir reckoned, with a small smile on his face.

But, he then realized that he was not safe at this moment. He looked over his shoulder, finding nothing, and then warily began to take the berries. He plopped a couple in his mouth, as he began to think about the mutts. It did not seem that they were near him, so he figured that they would most likely only be out during the night time. He calmed down, but he did not seem to shake off the feeling that there was something near him.

He ate the berries, and knowing that his loaf of bread was going to be stale after a time longer, he cut off a couple of pieces and smeared some berries on them. After eating two pieces of bread, the tartness of the berries made his throat rather dry. He knew that he was hydrated enough to survive the day, but it would be rather uncomfortable. He knew that water would not only bring other Tributes, but it would also bring on the mutts, but only if they actually walked in the light of this artificial sun.

But, comfort eventually won, and Boromir knew that it would be better for him to be hydrated now, for he was to be travelling in the afternoon. He had nothing to carry the water in, and he knew that he would have to stay close to water; even if it meant that he was in danger. Boromir frankly would prefer getting killed by a Tribute, rather than being withered away slowly by dehydration.

It took him awhile to reach the stream, and by then, he was panting. He knew that he needed to drink some water; he already had a massive headache coming along. He knew that if he continued to walk without drinking water, he would start to feel his strength wane and he would become immobile. If he allowed that to happen, he would be an easy picking for the Career Tributes; or any Tribute at that.

When he heard the trickle of water gently on the rocks, he was tempted to just go over and start to drink, when he heard the sound of two hushed voices. He immediately worked to quiet his breathing, and tried to hide himself in the foliage, but still get a good look at the two people who were currently at the water source. Boromir finally managed to get a peek at them, and when he did, he saw that they both were as wary as he was. Water, though it meant life, also meant danger.

Boromir shifted his hand to his dagger, when he remembered Faramir back at home. He wondered if he was watching this live; or if he was at school. Boromir knew that even though Faramir did enjoy his studies, he would not be able to concentrate with Boromir in the Games. Even if his brother was not watching, Boromir still did not want to just attack these Tributes. Though it would mean a higher chance for him to go home, it was not something that he wanted to do. To him, it was inhumane; but then again, the whole concept of these Games was inhumane. Boromir refused to take a part in it.

He brought his hand back up, and just watched them. They looked almost happy to him, though they seemed to be on edge, and Boromir wished that he had somebody to talk to. He hadn't spoken to anybody freely since he came to the Capitol; with Ioreth disliking him starting from the Train, he had nobody to talk to. He had spent most of his evenings just pondering what it was like back at home, or thinking of how he was to get back to Faramir. He had never truly had any conversation, unless one counted the interview, but that was not a conversation in Boromir's view; it was more of an interrogation.

He then felt something for these people that he never thought that he would feel; jealousy. He was jealous that they were friends, even in a Game where they were supposed to kill each other. He wanted that sort of friendship; one that jumped the bounds of death, and a chance to go home. He knew that back at home, there wasn't anything like this for him, nor had there ever been. Boromir knew that Faramir was his closest friend he would ever have, and he regretted that he would be dying before his time, away from Faramir. He wondered how his younger brother was to cope with this loss.

Boromir heard the people start to get up and leave, when there was a large twig snapped. He heard a harsh, whispered, voice scold the person who did it, "Pippin!"

"I'm sorry Merry!" The other one whispered back, and Boromir remembered them as the boys who only used the slingshot station. "It's not like there is anybody else out here!"

"There could be, Pip, be careful," 'Merry' replied, before he seemed to forgive 'Pippin'. "It's alright this time. Now, let's find something to eat." After the boy agreed, the two of them left the area. Boromir smiled to himself, before he went down to the stream and began to drink.

He looked over his shoulder every time he finished once gulp from his cupped hands; in case the boys noticed him and decided to put a stake in his heart. They did have a backpack, which meant that they could have weapons, but Boromir was not sure. Even if they did have weapons, they were certainly not adept with any of them, and Boromir would most likely be able to disarm them. He was stronger than they were, and if they did want to fight, Boromir knew that he would most likely have to kill them, before they killed him.

He straightened after he finished his drinking, and then decided to depart in the opposite direction of the boys; higher up into the mountain. He knew that most people would not travel here, and he would be relatively safe there. He sighed to himself, before he looked at the bread in his hands. Though it was the only thing he had, he did wish that he had somebody to share it with.

Aragorn watched as Arwen sat, tending to the girl from One, looking rather lonely as she looked back out at the rest of the arena. Aragorn grinned to himself a little bit, before he then got down from his perch atop the tree, and made his way to his pack. He took another sip of the sweet juice in his canister, and took an apple, and began to munch on it as he considered what he was to do today. If he wanted, he could have just stayed in the tree all day, but that was boring. He didn't want to go hunting for Tributes, or anything else; he wasn't feeling in the mood to do something that involving.

He looked at a couple of birds that were flitting from tree to tree, chattering to each other. He looked at the birds; they seemed to be having an argument, with their feathers puffed out, and an irate tone to their chirps. He narrowed his eyes when one of the birds began to peck at the other, and suddenly got an idea.

Making sure that he had his string of knives, and his sword, Aragorn scaled down tree. Once he hit the ground, he walked carelessly to the lake, though he kept on looking over his shoulder. As soon as he reached the grassland, Aragorn smiled to himself, as he bent down, and took a couple of sips from the water. The grass swayed around him, brushing against his skin as he stood straight up, and looked at Arwen. Her eyes were trailing his every action, but she made no move of attack. Aragorn's smile grew, as he began to walk to her.

He watched as Arwen bristled, and then reached over and grabbed herself a small sword. She stood in a protective stance over the girl from One, and her eyes were narrowed at Aragorn. When he was only three metres away from her, Aragorn raised up his hands, and then smiled. "I'm not here to kill you, Arwen, but you do know that I could do it with ease."

"Then what are you here for, Aragorn?" Arwen spat at him, in the angriest face that she could possibly muster. To Aragorn, it did not look very intimidating, but Arwen's face was a noble and soft sort of beautiful, and it would not be easily manipulated into such terrible faces. Arwen took a step away from him as he drew in closer.

"I am here, for a simple talk, Arwen, what else?" Aragorn said, his eyebrows raised as he sat down. "I'm not here to harm you, or that girl. Have you been using some atheleas? It may help with the infection that is sure to follow that wound. I just mean to talk, Arwen, really. What will it take for you to accept that?"

"Put your sword down on the ground," Arwen told him, "Drop your knives too. Don't even think about getting them." Arwen still pointed her small sword at him.

"If I do so, will you drop your weapon as well, and make sure _she _doesn't try to kill me," Aragorn nodded his head towards the blonde girl from One, as he gently set his sword down on the ground, as well as his string of knives. After doing so, Aragorn sat down on the ground across from Arwen, looking at the giant pile of supplies. Arwen warily obliged his request, and thrust her sword into the ground beside her, and then dropped to the ground beside the girl from One.

"Sparkle won't do anything to hurt you. She'll just sit there and look at you, before she falls back asleep," Arwen said, speaking rather annoyed.

"Her name is Sparkle?" Aragorn replied, raising his eyebrows at Arwen, hiding a chuckle. Arwen then rolled her eyes at her District Partner.

"Her last name is Sprinkle," Arwen said, and then Aragorn couldn't help it; he laughed rather loudly. Arwen smiled at him, before she saw the girl from One shift slightly. Arwen looked at Aragorn, and then said, "You should go. I don't know when Legolas and Lobelia are to return, and when they do, I'm sure Legolas will be happy to slit your throat."

"Legolas... is that Legolas Greenleaf?" Aragorn inquired, ignoring the rest of what Arwen had said to him about leaving.

"Yes, the one you seem to hate, Aragorn," Arwen told him. "He's not that bad, really."

"You mean _she,_" Aragorn said, causing Arwen to stifle a little laugh.

"Legolas is completely male, trust me," Arwen said.

"Fooling around with him, Arwen?"

"Nothing like that, it's just the fact that no sane male would find Sparkle the slightest bit appealing," Arwen rolled her eyes, before she got up. "You should leave, Aragorn, before I have to attempt to try to kill you."

"Allies?" Aragorn suddenly said, looking at Arwen. Her blue eyes widened before she just looked at Sparkle, and the rest of the Cornucopia. She didn't say anything, nor did she look at him, but she gave a small nod; one that Aragorn took as a yes. Aragorn smiled at her, before he got to his feet, knowing that having Arwen on his side would mean a bit more leverage to help him win these Games. He ran through the grass, back to his area of the forest, looking over his shoulder to find Arwen doing the exact same thing to him.

Sam had gotten no sleep that night; lying on the rocky ground of a cobweb and bone infected place was not an ideal bed for him. Frodo, on the other hand, seemed to be completely unconscious, turning in his sleep, rustling what Sam thought used to be a rabbit. He shuddered, not because of the rabbit, but because of the insane cold that the Game Makers decided to put over them as night fell. He had given Frodo the blanket last night, believing that he might not need it during the night.

Sam, however, regretted that decision, but as the sunlight streamed through the opening of the cave, he found that he was warming up. He cast glance at Frodo, finding that the blanket was now tangled in a web instead of around the boy from Four's body. Sam sighed to himself, and knew that there was no point in feinting sleep anymore. He got to his feet, and ripped the blanket out of the web, and folded it into his bag. After he was finished, he sat down on a relatively comfortable rock, far away from any bones, but close enough to Frodo and the opening to comfort him.

The sunlight was starting to get brighter, and Sam gently fidgeted with his knives, wanting to get out of the cave as soon as possible. He was tempted to wake Frodo up, and suggest that they eat outside, but part of him just wanted to let Frodo have a good sleep. So Sam sat, looking outside, before the soft sound of footsteps made him whirl around. Panic filled his heart when he saw that Frodo was no longer lying on the ground.

He swung his backpack over his shoulders, and decided to venture deeper into the cave. The light suddenly dimmed, and Sam slipped on something wet, not being able to see where he was. He crashed to the ground, and mumbled things about cursed bones and how he hated this cave. Sam was still on the ground when he heard a rock be displaces, before Frodo began to scream. Sam struggled to his feet, looking around to see anything in the darkness. He tried to support himself by putting his hand on the wall, but found that it was covered in a sticky substance. Sam cried out, and tried to find some source of light in the dark cave. He whirled around, and looked at the opening; it looked as though it was covered by a large shape.

As Sam's eyes adjusted back to the light, he saw that there was a large spider hanging over the opening, blocking the sun, and thus making him slip. He looked at his feet, and then realized that it wasn't water, but in fact drool. Sam didn't have time to be grossed out by the drool when he noticed that, hanging from the spider's limbs, was the shape of Frodo, struggling and crying out. Sam's eyes widened, as he took a knife in his hands. He couldn't see anything that he could aim at though, so he decided to risk getting a little closer.

Knowing that he had little time, but knowing that he had to be careful, or the spider may try to attack him; Sam looked down at his feet, and made sure he stepped on no bones as he walked as fast as he could. For some strange reason, when he was focusing on the ground, he realized that all of Panem would be looking at him at this moment. It made it seem as though there was much more pressure on him than there had been before.

Sam finally got near enough to the spider to make out its black eyes. He tried to steady the knife in his shaking hand as he took aim, and then threw it at the spider. The large black mutt shrieked as the knife got lodged into its eye, and it dropped Frodo. Sam ran out, and tried to grab his ally, but was knocked to the side by the spider. His head smashed against the rocks, and he brought his hand to the back of his head. When he returned it, he found that his hand was bloodied.

Though Sam's vision was blurred and wavering, he saw the spider take a bite into Frodo's body, and heard the boy who had been his ally give out a cry. Sam now knew that there was no way that he could save Frodo. He had to get out of the caves while he could. The spider seemed to be occupied with Frodo at the moment, and Sam then managed to grab Frodo's old bag. The spider shifted, giving Sam a little room to slip out of the cave.

Sam took in a deep breath, and was prepared to run, when the large boom of the cannon shook the cave. The spider seemed to panic with the large noise, and it scrambled back into the depth of the cave. Sam took this opportunity to get out of the cave, and began to run as fast as he could away from the cave. He felt terrible; not only was he bleeding, but he had allowed his ally to die.

Sam ran until he felt too weak to move, and he slumped beside a tree. The world spun until it turned back, and Sam was lost in unconsciousness.

Diamond cursed herself when she stepped on the stick, her breathing elevated, when she then heard rocks being displaced from near the river. Diamond looked around for a decent place to hide, and she had begun to run away when she smashed into somebody else. Her eyes must have been huge when she looked up to see the girl from District Ten. Diamond remembered her being extremely violent, and she had little hope that she was going to survive this ordeal. She had Careers behind her, and the girl from Ten in front of her. She trembled, before the girl held out her hand.

"Come on, hurry up if you want to live," she hissed. Diamond gripped her hand, and then was yanked upwards by the girl. They both ran as fast as they could away from the Careers. Diamond cried out when a spear split a small tree to her left, and she watched as the girl from Ten twirled around, and threw a knife at the boy from One. Though she didn't hit the boy, she cut his bow in two, and he cursed loudly at her.

Diamond looked at the girl in shock, as they made more and more distance away from the Careers. Finally, they both seemed to silently agree that they were far enough to be safe from the Careers and they stopped. Diamond looked at the girl incredulously, waiting for her to turn around and slit her throat.

"I'm Estella, from Ten," she said, holding out her hand. Diamond looked at it, heaving deeply; she knew that if it wasn't for this girl, she would have been skewered by that boy's arrows.

"Diamond, from Six," she gasped, and then she shook her hand. Estella smiled at her, before she sat down.

"Allies, I guess?" Estella said, and she watched as Diamond grew a smile of her own.

"Allies."

Bilbo trembled as he watched the games, before he then turned off the TV, and threw the remote against the ground. He couldn't believe it; Frodo was gone, and so early too. He suddenly flashed back to his own childhood, watching as his friends were reaped. Gandalf had made it out alive; he was the only one to do so. Thorin had almost won, he had come so close in his Games; his Games even had a large dragon in it that took to eating tributes at will. In the end, it was a girl from Two to do him in. Kili and Fili, the two twins, reaped in consecutive years. They both stood no chance, and were killed in the blood bath.

Bilbo shook his head, trying to get the memories out. He had succeeded in doing so, but only to have the image of Frodo, wrapped up in the white sticky cobweb, tears pouring down his face as he was bit into by that monstrous spider. The announcers had called it Shelob, but Bilbo still hated it nonetheless. He expected to wake up from this dream; to be shaken awake by Frodo, who would smile at him and tell him that there was nothing wrong. But no Frodo came to wake him up; no Frodo would ever come to wake him up. Bilbo would be forever trapped in this terrible night-terror, and would forever be haunted by the image of his nephew getting killed by the spider.

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><p><strong><span>Thanks to butterflyninja935, LilyMaeve, takulyra444, K9olaquia, Falathiel the Huntress, D.L Sauron-AlmightyLOTRnerd, Elf from Downunder, and RiverStorm16 for reviewing! Thanks to Elf from Downunder for subscribing and favouriting! As for the girl's perspective, I'm only going to do it when there's something interesting happening with them, just so you know what's happening...<span>**

**Do you like the Bilbo cameo? There are going to be more of those, so ENJOY IT or don't... I really can't do anything**

**DON'T KILL ME FOR KILLING FRODO! It had to happen sooner or later; I know I said that I wasn't judging characters by how I liked them, but Movie!Frodo rubs me the wrong way and seeing as Movie!Frodo is younger, I couldn't help but see Frodo from Four as Movie!Frodo. I apologize for all of you who loved Frodo... unfortunately, I don't. Anyways, I am sorry for killing him, he was fun to write. **

**I'm also terribly sorry for the long wait; I had exams, and I'm working on an original novel, so that takes up quite a bit of my time. Also, and I know I say this every single time I update, but it's the truth; I was sick and when I'm sick, I don't want to do anything. I had to write my exams while I was sick, but I did alright , long author's notes, but I guess that's what you expect when I brutally murder a character. **


	9. Another One Bites the Dust

_**~One Game to rule them all,  
><strong>__**One Game to find them,  
><strong>__**One Game to bring them all,  
><strong>__**And may the odds be ever in your favour.~**_

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><p>He came in a box; a simple cedar box that smelt like it had just been freshly cut. The Peacekeepers that came with him said nothing, but set him down on the couch before leaving. No words had been said during this time, not even for the man who received the box. The man looked at it for a couple of seconds, the room filling up with the pleasant smell of cedar, something that he would no longer find pleasant ever again. He didn't know what he wanted to do with it; he knew that it was destined to be embraced by the earth for all eternity, but he did not want to lock the boy in the box in there without first looking at him. The box had not been nailed shut; the lid was easily lifted with the help of two hinges that attached it to the main part of the box.<p>

Nestled there, wearing a simple white blouse, black pants, and shined black shoes, was his favourite nephew. His eyes were closed, but the man had not the heart to open them to look into the bright blue depths that were slowly rusting with death, and unseeing. Their intelligence would be gone, and the spark of an adventure that the boy lying in the box always wanted would have been stamped out. His curly dark brown hair was tousled gently, though it just looked as though he had gone out running, and returned windswept. It would have seemed that he was sleeping if it were not for the fact that his skin was no longer tanned from sunlight, and instead, nearly matched the colour of his white blouse. The boy's chest did not rise or fall and the man knew that this sleep would be eternal.

His fatal wound had been surgically recovered; no reason for his death was shown on him. If the man had not seen it himself, he would have believed that he had just dropped dead. But the man knew enough; the image of the boy's tears and the sound of his last cry would forever echo in his head. He couldn't take it anymore; he slowly bent down, and opened the empty eyes to look at him once more.

The last apology that would forever be in Frodo's glazed eyes made Bilbo break down and cry into the boy's cold chest.

When Sam awoke from his terrible endeavour, he found that night had fallen. The air was comfortingly cool, though Sam knew that he would find it a problem later on. His head still pounded; his vision spinning as he sat himself up. Sam felt queasy, but since he hadn't eaten anything, he had nothing to throw up. He looked down at the ground, and found that he was sitting in a dried pool of his own blood. His clothes were stiff with it, and Sam knew that he would have to leave this area; he didn't know if there were any other mutts that would want to eat him like the giant spider who had... Sam cut himself off, he didn't want to think about Frodo.

He got to his feet, taking a couple of steps before he slumped against the nearest tree. He knew that there was a river somewhere, and he knew that if he didn't find it, he would die of thirst. Sam couldn't move anymore though, his head was screaming in protest, and Sam couldn't think about much other than that. He let himself lean against the tree, slowly lowering himself to the ground. His two packs were heavy on his back, and he wondered why they were.

He couldn't remember much apart from the spider and Frodo; he couldn't remember why he was on a mountain, and why he was carrying these packs around. He opened one of them up, and saw the blanket, suddenly remembering the Games and the reason for Frodo's death. He also remembered the lembas; the only food that he had to eat. He knew he needed to eat it too, if he wanted to live through this night. He hadn't made it far enough away from the pool of his own blood to be safe.

Sam gently took a piece in his hand, and nibbled on it. After that settled in his stomach, Sam suddenly felt the result of not eating anything for a whole day, and felt the urge to shove the whole thing down his throat. He restrained himself, and only nibbled on the bread until it had completely disappeared. Sam felt strangely full for only eating something as small as the piece of bread. But, even though the morsel was small, it brought Sam enough energy to get out of the area.

He got to his feet; this time he was able to ignore the throbbing pain in the back of his head. He managed to make it far enough away from where he had previously bled all over, but he still hadn't found any water, and he knew that he needed to get some or he would certainly be feeling it later. Sam finally heard the soft trickling of water over smooth stones. He cocked his head to the side, and then, shining in the fake moon, he saw the river.

Sam stumbled forwards, trying to get to the water. When he reached it, he didn't even care for anything but drinking it. He cupped his hands, and brought them to his face before he got an idea. He needed to get the blood off of his body, otherwise he would be a walking signpost that read, "I'm injured, dying and bloody; please consider to eat me, wild mutts." Sam took off his packs, and then got into the water. The current was soft, not strong enough to pull him anywhere, but he still clung to a rock.

The water was cold, most likely coming from the run off of snow from the mountains, and it shook Sam awake. He held onto his rock with one hand and used his other hand to get the blood out of his clothing. The dried blood had stained his clothing, and he knew that his camouflage was completely useless, but Sam knew that it was better than wearing nothing. It took him longer than what he expected to get the blood out of his clothing, but he knew that it was working because the river was getting stained red. Finally, he got it all out, and he decided to stay in the water for a little longer before he got out.

He was dripping wet, and Sam then took off his clothing, leaving only his undergarments. He found a tall tree that was not a pine, but one he could not identify, and then climbed it. He hung his clothing in the branches after he had found a decent branch for him to sleep on. He wrapped himself in the blanket, finding that he was warmed immediately by it. Though he had slept for a long time, Sam found himself drifting off into sleep. His mind finally rested, and Sam found himself lost in a dreamless sleep.

He woke to the sound of birds chirping cheerfully, the sun just peeking its face over the mountain. Sam knew that he had slept through the Capitol anthem and Frodo's face in the sky, and he was glad that he hadn't seen it. Frodo's face would have just brought him a heavier feeling of guilt than the one that he had been currently cultivated in his heart.

His body was shaking with the cold, and Sam reached over to feel that his clothing had dried. As he had predicted the night before, his clothing had a rusty tint to them, but it wasn't as drastic as he had thought before. Sam sighed to himself, and knew that it would be near impossible to get his clothing on in the tree.

He decided that he was going to eat some before he went down to clothe himself, and he took a mouthful of the lembas bread, and packed it away. He knew that last night was an exception; he would only take three mouthfuls a day if he wanted it to last. Strangely, the small mouthful that he had taken had filled him up more than he expected. Perhaps there was something about this bread that Frodo had failed to mention in their short time together, for Sam was starting to think that it was more than just bread.

He retrieved his clothing, and his bags, before he then climbed down the tree. His head wasn't hurting him as much, but he found that he did have difficulty putting on his clothing. Whenever he would bend down to pull up his pants, black spots would litter his vision, and he would have to take deep breaths in an effort to keep himself conscious. Sam then remembered the medical kits in his bags, and he reached in to see if there was anything that would help him with a headache. He found the two bottles, and he emptied one of them in another, keeping one of the pills for his use.

Sam filled the empty pill bottle with water, and used it to take his own pill before he filled it up again. Though it wasn't much water, it would be something if he was in a situation where he would be unable to go to the river. He did the same with the rest of the bottles, and on a whole, he figured he had about a quarter of a cup of water in total for an emergency.

As Sam turned back to where his bags were leant against the tree, his head finally clear enough for him to think properly, he saw something on the tree trunk that he had not noticed before. There were hundreds of scratch marks, each about half a metre long, (1.7 feet) that had torn off the majority of the bark on the tree. Sam grew cold even though he was wearing his clothing, knowing that there was something that had wanted to kill him.

Legolas grumbled as he walked back to camp with Lobelia, holding the two broken pieces of his old bow. Lobelia found it absolutely hilarious that he had been bettered, and was holding back laughter whenever Legolas swore at the girl from Ten. Legolas, however, did not. He had thought that the girl would have been a problem, but he didn't know that she would be this much trouble. Luckily for him there was another two bows in the Cornucopia, otherwise Legolas would have to show that he was able to fight with his knives.

Legolas threw the broken bow down by the Cornucopia once they returned, almost hitting Sparkle in the head. He didn't say anything to Arwen, but Lobelia explained what happened to her anyways. "We were chasing after the girls from Six and Ten; I almost got Six with my spear, but she moved in time. Ten then turns back and threw a knife at Leggy here. She didn't get him, but she scissored his bow in two. Needless to say, Legolas muttered under his breath, 'Stupid bitch,' and they got away. It was pretty much a day wasted."

"It wasn't," Legolas said as he then picked up another bow, and tested the string. Arwen raised her eyebrows at him, curious at what he meant. Legolas then shot an arrow at the ground, which got stuck. "We know that they are there, and we know that one of them is a minor threat to us. We know where they will be and we know to go and hunt them."

"That's true," Lobelia admitted as she then took the arrow out of the ground and handed it back to Legolas. Sparkle got to her feet and began to limp over to a bag of food. Lobelia glared at her as Sparkle forged through it, and took out a strip of dried meat. Sparkle took a large bite out of it, and then began to chew rather obnoxiously. Lobelia's eyes narrowed, as she and Legolas caught each other's eyes. They both made gagging faces before Sparkle realized what they were doing, and they stopped just before she looked at them. Arwen gave an awkward cough at this, trying to mask a smile on her face.

"What do we do now?" Sparkle asked them, her mouth still full of food. Legolas twisted his hands together, trying to calm the urge to murder the girl in front of him at the moment.

"We shall rest," Legolas said, and he pointed harshly at her chest, poking her in the collar bone, "You shall keep watch seeing as you slept all day."

Sparkle huffed, and got to her feet, taking her dried meat with her. As she limped away from Legolas, he noticed that there was a red mark on her skin where he had poked her. Legolas grinned at that, but he got a warning look from Arwen when he did so. He knew that he wasn't exactly supporting the alliance with Sparkle greatly, but neither was Lobelia. They all knew that Sparkle was practically useless; she couldn't fight when she was injured, she ate food that they could have used later on, and she had no skill in healing like Arwen did. 'All in all', thought Legolas, 'she would be better off as a corpse.'

Legolas pulled back his sleeping bag, and wrapped it around his body, trying to calm his mind and lose himself in sleep. It was difficult; he kept on imaging the kill that he had almost gotten, and his mind was wondering who had been killed, and how they were killed. Eventually, Legolas got his little cat nap, but he was awoken by the loud, blaring anthem. He shot out of his bed; wanting to see who had been the person who had been killed today. He watched the seal disappear, and then saw the face of the boy from Four.

Legolas was shocked; usually Career Tributes lasted much longer than any other Tribute. This boy had been clever as well, either the boy from Eleven, the one that Legolas remembered to be in an alliance with the boy from Four, had betrayed him, or there were mutts out there that were greater than the ones that had been in the previous games. Legolas suddenly felt on edge, and no longer trusted Sparkle to be on guard; she wasn't capable of protecting anybody, and Legolas felt that if he let her stay on watch, then she would cause all of their deaths. That was something that Legolas didn't want to happen, and he sat up.

Sparkle was slumped against the Cornucopia, her head sagging against her chest, as if she was sleeping. Legolas was right to not trust her, for she had nodded off to sleep. He sighed to himself, before getting to his feet. He ran over to Sparkle, and roughly shook her awake. The blonde-haired, green-eyed girl from District One jolted up, grabbing the nearest knife, before she realized that it was just Legolas. Her breathing slowed down enough for her to comprehend her emotions, and she chose to glare at him. Legolas returned her glare with a look filled with spite.

"You were supposed to keep watch!" Legolas whispered in a voice as angry as he could muster. It took all of his strength to not grasp her by her hair, and shake her like a ragdoll. "Instead we fall asleep! You are going to kill us all, Sparkle!"

"I was tired, Legolas, Arwen kept on giving me drouzy medicine!" Sparkle growled back, flipping her hair as Legolas's hands unconsciously moved towards the twin knives in his pockets. He realized what he was doing, and then grabbed the collar of her shirt instead. Sparkle's eyes widened as she then reached for her knife. The fight was then cut off by a low growl, and Legolas looked upwards, into the woods. Staring back at him were too yellow eyes.

Legolas immediately dropped Sparkle; letting her hit the ground with a loud thud. He looked out at the eyes, and then, without breaking eye contact, inched over to where Lobelia and Arwen were sleeping on the ground. He gently nudged Lobelia with his foot as he began reach over for his bow. Lobelia grumbled, and turned in her sleep; "Stop it, prissy boy, lemme sleep."

"Lobelia, if I let you sleep, you will die," Legolas informed her, and Lobelia glared at him for a second, before she reached over and grabbed her spear.

"What in hell's name is after us?" Lobelia said, her voice still slurred from the sleep that was unwillingly letting her go. Legolas pointed with the tip of his bow, before he gently poked Arwen awake. She was much more willing to get up from her sleep than Lobelia had been, and was smart enough to not speak at all, and instead, grab herself a small sword. Sparkle limped towards them, holding her own set of knives.

They waited in silence, trailing the yellow eyes with their own, watching as more and more appeared. The first mutt walked into the open grass; it was the size of a bear, but looked much like a wolf. It peered around, before it noticed the Careers, and then lunged at them. The rest of the mutts began to fill up the valley, as Legolas let the first arrow fly to knock down the first mutt.

Gimli awoke to the sound of feet running against the ground. He looked down to see more of those mutts that he had before; but for some reason, they were completely ignoring him. All of them seemed to be inclined to run down the mountain into the grassland that Gimli had not seen in two days. He wondered what they were so interested in, but then Gimli realized that the Careers had decided to camp there. Perhaps the Game Makers were giving all of them a chance to live by killing off the Careers. Gimli personally thought that it was highly unlikely; and maybe the mutts were just designed to invade the grassland on the third night of the Games.

Gimli was right in assuming that these Games were unlike any other; never before had an arranged attack happened in the Games. Gimli suddenly felt much safer up in his tree, watching as all of the mutts cleared the mountain. He felt some sort of a pity for the Careers, but he then remembered how the girl from Four destroyed the girl from Eight, and the boy from One almost hitting him with an arrow. For some strange reason, Gimli then wished that these horrible human beings would die. Gimli then realized that he was acting very much like a horrible human being for wishing things like this.

But, Gimli reckoned to himself, humanity was abandoned in these Games. There was really no way that he could win these Games without wishing for his opponents to die, and it was that which made Gimli hate these Games more than he did before. Not only were they taking innocent lives; children that one day may have amounted to something great, they were making the only survivor into a monster. No wonder most of the Victors grew distant from main society; no wonder they turned to drugs or alcohol. There never truly was a sane Victor, Gimli knew from experience; his father's brother never was social, and never did he seem to be okay whenever Gimli saw him.

Gimli nestled in closer to his tree, hoping that he would be okay for the night, and hoping that if he ever made it out alive, he wouldn't be as crazy as the worst of the Victors. He knew that if he was to get out of these Games, he would still be mental, he just hoped that he wouldn't be as mental as most. He also hoped that, even though the chances of it happening were extremely high, a Tribute would not die tonight; one had already died today, he didn't want another to. He knew that his pity made him seem weak, but for a Tribute to lack pity at all would make them weaker than any other.

Gimli hated sleeping in the tree, as he found it rather difficult to fall asleep in, and he groaned as he tossed, trying to be comfortable. He would probably fall out of the tree if he kept this up, but Gimli was much more at home on the ground. He silently cursed the Game Makers for making the arena so filled with mutts, and wished that he was in a cave like he had said during his interview. But Gimli knew that a terrible sleep was better than no sleep at all, and he slowly drifted off.

It was early morning when the cannon crashed Gimli awake. He jolted upwards, and lost his balance. Gimli fell down a couple of metres before he got stuck in a large y shape in the branches. He cursed to himself, not bothering to keep his voice down because he knew that everybody would have heard the twigs snapping anyways. His back hurt, and bruises were sure to form, but the main thing that was on Gimli's mind was not the fact that a Tribute had just died, but the fact that he was now covered in pitch, and was stuck between two branches.

He huffed, and then reached up to another branch in an effort to get himself free. Gimli pulled himself up, but he didn't move. He cursed loudly again, and then lolled his head back, looking down at the ground. Below him were the branches that he had broken when he fell, and he knew that if he didn't get his butt out of this situation, he would be found by either the mutts, or another Tribute. Gimli tried to free himself again; this time, the branches he was suck between cracked. With one last tug, the branches broke off, and left Gimli hanging in the air, at least twenty metres off of the ground. He cursed himself yet again, as he scrambled upwards.

It was still dark out, but Gimli knew that the artificial sun would rise soon enough, and he began to make his way down the tree. When he reached the ground, he gave the two branches he had broken off a kick, before making his way back out. He was terribly hungry; haven't eating a real meal since his breakfast the day before the first day of the arena, and he was beginning to feel it.

He began to wonder if there was anything that he would be able to eat here, when he stumbled across a bush filled with berries. He looked at it for a moment; would he rather waste away from hunger, or would he rather have a death due to poison? It really didn't matter for him either way, as he striped the berries off of the bush, and began to eat them without care. They tasted like the blackberries that his father had brought home once before for his birthday, years and years ago, and Gimli thought that there was really nothing wrong with them. He shrugged to himself, before he continued to eat them.

As he sat there, pondering his own could-be demise, he wondered what Tribute was unfortunate enough to be killed last night. Gimli honestly held a grudge against that Tribute; why couldn't have they stayed alive at least until morning? If they hadn't died, then Gimli wouldn't have been made to look like a fool in front of all of Panem. He then began to wonder who it was, and who they had died; judging by the time, it was most likely because of all of the mutts. But in the Games, there was always the benefit of the doubt, and Gimli wasn't quick to assume about anything anymore.

He got up, deciding that he wasn't going to die anytime soon, and decided to head in the opposite direction from the mutts. It seemed to be the safest thing for him to do, but Gimli was still wary; these were the Hunger Games anyways, there was no being too careful in them. He sighed to himself, before he heard a twig snap. Gimli whirled around to see Freya, huffing, her face splattered with blood, holding a wound on her right side. Gimli looked down at her, watching as the blood seeped from her tiny fingers, before she stumbled towards him.

"Help... please..." Freya muttered before her eyes seemed to lose their glint of consciousness. She collapsed into Gimli's arms, leaving him shocked and unsure of what to do.

Boromir was awake when the cannon sounded; after he had seen the mutts running downhill, he knew that he wasn't going to be getting any sleep. He wondered if Faramir was awake with him right now, watching at the edge of his seat for anything related to his older brother. Boromir felt reassured when he thought about Faramir; though he was too far away to help just knowing that there was a possibility that he was watching him comforted Boromir greatly.

He gritted his teeth, knowing what the cannon symbolized, and wishing that it didn't mean what it did. He hated these Games, but so did everybody else that was forced to participate in them. Even the people who betted on a Tribute's survival hated these Games, even though it seemed as though they were beyond the point of caring. He wondered if there were people in the Capitol who were against this inhumane game, but Boromir knew that most of the people in the Capitol were raised to think that the Games were something good; and they couldn't be seen as evil for being corrupted like so. But still, Boromir felt a deep hatred for any person that was born and raised in the Capitol; almost a jealous sort of hate.

He then wondered what kind of person he would have been if he had been born there; certainly not the person he had been shaped out to be. It was like the Career Tributes; had they been raised in a different environment, how would they be? Their hearts had been turned into stone; cold and careless, practically just killing machines. He knew that he would have had a better life if he had been born in the Capitol; they were not submitted to watch as their friends died year after year, they were not even considered to be in the Games. They were free of the pain of a loss in the family at such a young age.

Boromir took in a deep breath, before he heard the sound of two voices drifting out over the silence of the night. He listened a bit and recognized them as the two boys; the ones with that always stayed in the slingshot area. He had already forgotten their names, but he had certainly not forgotten their faces. He was somewhat annoyed with their lack of caring to be silent and hidden, and was tempted to climb down the tree so he could scold them for it. He couldn't help but be reminded of Faramir when he saw them; they were too close in age, and though they did not look like him, Boromir knew that they shared his positive attitude.

He watched them, feeling much like a wildcat stalking his prey, with the only difference that Boromir was certainly not going to kill these boys. He knew he was probably causing an uproar in the Capitol, most of the people screaming at him to jump down from the tree with his knife extended and slit the boy's throats as he fell on them. Boromir had to hold in a snort at this image; all he could imagine was him dressed as one of those so-called ninjas from before Panem as he jumped from the tree.

He shook the thought out of his head by listening to the boy's conversation.

"Who do you think that was, Merry?" said the boy that Boromir recognized as the twig-snapper. Though it was still dark out, the artificial sun was setting a dim grey light over the arena, and Boromir could see the boy's worried face.

"I don't know, Pip, it could be anybody," 'Merry' replied in a hushed tone, looking out around the forest. "But, do you reckon that guy we saw earlier is following us? The one down by the river?"

Boromir immediately knew that they were talking about him, and he felt terrible for actually listening in on their conversation. He also felt the need to prove that he wasn't violent person and that he didn't mean any harm to them, but Boromir knew that if he tried to converse with them, it would end up with a rock to his head from their slingshot. They would most likely run away from him afterwards, too and think of him as a total threat.

"He can't be; he didn't seem to care about it. I liked him though; he's brave, especially when he didn't let his little brother volunteer for him. I have a feeling he doesn't want to hurt us, or anybody. He probably just wants to live this through for his brother. He doesn't seem to be the type to want to follow and kill people," 'Pip' said, and Boromir felt as though there was a weight lifted from his chest; this boy admired him, and thought him as a person who wouldn't hurt them. Boromir found new respect for this boy, even though they were careless. He then decided that there was no way he would be keeping in the tree anymore.

"You're right, Pip, he would have been a good ally; I liked him too," 'Merry' said, and Boromir then concluded that he would go down the tree to see these boys. He tried to scale the tree as quietly as he could, hoping to reach the boys before they decided to get up and leave their resting spot. He reached the ground, and took in a deep breath. Apparently his breathing was loud, for the boys whirled around, one of them with a slingshot and rock ready in hand.

Pippin was startled by the large boy from Twelve, they had just been talking about him, and now he was here. Pippin couldn't shake the feeling that he had been listening to their conversation, probably up in a tree somewhere near them, and he internally cursed himself. Merry readied the bags while Pippin kept the slingshot on the boy. The boy from Twelve raised his arms up in a surrender, but Pippin didn't trust him anyways. He loosed the rock, and watched as the boy let it hit him in the head.

The boy from Twelve brought his hand up, and rubbed the spot where he had been hit, muttering something under his breath about how he probably deserved that rock to the head. Merry looked as though he was ready to run, but Pippin couldn't help but feel that there was an alternative motive to seeing them other than just wanting to kill them both. Pippin lowered the slingshot, ignoring the warning flash of Merry's eyes.

"What do you want?" Pippin asked him, and the boy then lowered his arms. His grey eyes seemed to relax as he looked at Pippin, and a smile formed over his face, giving him a much gentler look to his stern and noble face. Pippin suddenly felt as though this boy wanted to be friends with them, instead of enemies. It was a pleasant feeling; almost as if he wanted to watch after them. Merry seemed to relax as well, for he got out of his fleeing position, and just looked at the tall boy.

"I would like it if you two were more careful, you do not realize how loud you are. If there was somebody other than myself, you would have been killed," he explained himself.

"You want to be allies?" Merry inferred, and the boy's smile grew. Pippin felt the urge to smile as well; this boy seemed so friendly, but Pippin knew that he would have a hard time trusting him since he had not spent any of the Training Days talking with him.

"That would be nice," he told them, before he then dropped a loaf of bread, and a knife in front of him. "If you do not believe I won't harm you, please take the knife and the bread, it will suit you two much better. Feel free to gut me if you decide that I am not worth your time; my body would be a much better ruse than your deer corpse back then. That was clever; it had me worrying until I recognized the bones. I haven't introduced myself; I am Boromir Stewart, from Twelve."

Pippin felt as though this boy did not truly mean them any harm now that he realized that he had been watching over them since the first day practically. Pippin looked at Merry, who nodded, and Pippin then said, "Keep your stuff, if you've been following us for that long, you probably would have killed us already."

"I have not been following you," Boromir said, "It was merely convenient bump-ins."

"That's unlikely," Merry snorted with a roll of his eyes as Boromir picked up his knife and bread. Boromir glared at him for a moment, before his face smoothed back out into a smile.

"It is the truth, however unlikely it is; I don't tend stalk little boys in my spare time," Boromir retorted, and Pippin puffed out his cheeks irately. Boromir raised his eyebrows at him, "Have I insulted you? I do not know your names yet, or shall you prefer to remain anonymous?"

"We are not little!" Pippin exclaimed, before he then said, "I am Peregrin Took, from Six... call me Pippin."

"I'm with Pip on the not little, but I'm Meriadoc Brandybuck, from Ten, call me Merry though, but you probably already know that since you've been stalking us," Merry concluded, and then Boromir laughed at them.

"You are small to me, but perhaps I'm just tall to you," Boromir chuckled as he sat down with them. Pippin smiled at him, before he looked at the boy; his grey eyes, though seemingly happy, seemed to have a look of misery in them; like he was missing somebody dearly. Pippin immediately knew that this boy was missing his younger brother.

"Well, what now?" Pippin said, breaking the silence that had taken place for a few seconds, "We have Boromir, but it's not like we can take over the Careers, especially with a slingshot, a loaf and half of bread, a blanket, matches, and a knife."

"You said matches?" Boromir perked up a bit, and Pippin handed Boromir the matches. Boromir looked at them for a moment, before a small grin formed on his lips. "The Careers have camped in the grass, correct?"

"I think, but how is that relevant?" Merry asked him, a frown on his face.

"It has not rained at all here, and it seems as though we are in the middle of a drought. What does dry grass do well?" Boromir urged, and then Pippin raised his eyebrows at him.

"Grow?" Pippin said, causing Boromir to chuckle. Merry's eyes widened, before he looked at Boromir. He seemed to understand what Boromir was getting at, and he let his thoughts known, even though Boromir was still laughing.

"Burns. Dry grass burns really well," Merry stated, and then Boromir's grin grew.

"Exactly."

Aragorn watched as the sun rose, looking over the trees at the slaughter in the grassland. At least twenty of the mutts lay there, bleeding all over the ground, and standing in the middle were all of the Careers; every single one of them had survived the attack. Aragorn grimaced; as much as he wanted Arwen to be okay, he still wanted at least the Greenleaf to be killed in the attack. But, none of them were killed, though the girl from One- Sparkle Sprinkle (Aragorn only remembered because he found it hilarious), had been injured.

He watched as the small blond figure with the bow jumped down from the Cornucopia, and as the dark-haired figure of Arwen bent down over the bleeding girl. From what Aragorn could see, she was bitten on the shoulder by one of the mutts, and she had a rather large amount of flesh missing from it. If she didn't die of blood-loss, then she would definitely die of infection. Unless this whiny girl, as Aragorn saw her as, had good sponsors, she was not going to be the Victor of these Games, and in fact, would probably not see the sun rise ever again.

Aragorn sighed, leaning back in his tree; the attack had been so sudden. The pounding of the feet had woken him, but he was calm enough to sit back and watch, even as the mutts sniffed at his tracks. His tree even had been shaken, but Aragorn did not waste a knife on them, because he knew that they would soon be bored of the prey that they would have to work for, and instead attack the Careers in the grassland. He had been right in assuming so, and now, he was sitting pretty in his tree, eating an apple, looking out at the reddened grass.

The attack was pointless; the only thing it did was ensure that a girl who would have otherwise been killed later would die, but Aragorn knew that it did kill somebody. The cannon had sounded in the early hours before dawn. No other Tribute would have been out hunting at a time like that; the mutts clearly had found somebody and killed them. Aragorn felt rather irate again; yet another Tribute had died, and by a means of mutts instead of human. Though Aragorn was not sure about the boy from Four's death, he highly doubted that the boy from Eleven had killed him.

Aragorn then got the notion that the boy from Eleven could have been injured by the same thing that caused the boy from Four's death, and finally bled to death in the night. The uncertainty made Aragorn cringe inside; he wanted to know how the Tributes had died. This was nothing like the bloodbath, when Aragorn knew who had killed who, and how they were killed. This was like being blind and deaf, and then being thrown into a contest of dancing, wear makeup had to be applied. He hated the oblivion he was forced to be in, and he wished he had a small TV so he could watch the Games while he was in them.

He stayed in his tree, eating the apple, until he watched the dark-haired figure of Arwen begin to walk in his general direction. Aragorn knew that she probably had made up an excuse to come and see him; probably wondering if he was the one to have been killed in the attack or not. Aragorn then reckoned that she could have just been looking for athelas; but that seemed to be more of an excuse than an actual reason to wander into the woods.

He watched as she filled up something with the water of the lake, as he took a sip of the sweet juice. He was starting to grow sick of it; the juice was just too sweet for his liking. When she turned into the woods, Aragorn slipped down his tree, and was leaning against it when Arwen stumbled across him.

"Hello," Aragorn said, a coy smile on his face as he watched her jump back, obviously startled with him. "Coming to see if I have died yet?"

"Aragorn! Keep your voice down, they may hear you. Legolas has exceptional hearing, it is in a way creepy," Arwen told him, though she seemed to be relieved that he was alive and well. "The mutts didn't bother you, did they?"

Aragorn nodded at this, noticing that Arwen had a scratch on her face, clearly from one of the mutt's claws. He reached out, and gently ran his thumb along the cut. His head had been titled to the side, before he then said, "Make sure you take care of that; even the simplest thing can become infected."

"I know that, Aragorn," Arwen retorted in a weak voice, jerking backwards, out of his reach, her face flushed a bright red. "I came here for athelas; Sparkle needs it."

"She'll die, Arwen, there is nothing you can do about it," Aragorn told her as she bent down at picked the plant that was known as kings foil in every other District. Arwen stiffly stood up, and glared at Aragorn, before she then yanked the plant from the ground. Aragorn raised his eyebrows at her, wondering what was wrong.

Arwen then whispered in a soft voice, "I know, but I can't help but try to save her."

"Arwen, why did you volunteer for these Games in the first place? You should be grateful that she's going to die; it brings you another step closer to home; for all of us. You keep on acting healer, Arwen, how long is that going to last?" Aragorn exclaimed, for some reason, he was angry with her. Perhaps it was the fact that she had volunteered for these Games, and Aragorn knew that she would have lived otherwise. A gentle soul like Arwen would never be able to win the Games. It made him angry to think that she made such a stupid decision, even though he didn't care for her before. He wondered if it was just the fact that she was his only connection to home, or he felt the need to keep her safe because they were in an alliance.

Arwen looked at him, with soft, sad blue-grey eyes, and then said, "I don't know, Aragorn, I truly don't," before she turned away, back to the bloodied grassland. Aragorn didn't see it, but Arwen had tears in her eyes as she walked back to her fake alliance, and away from one that was true.

"Freya! Freya!" She heard his voice exclaim, and she stirred in his arms. She remembered it all; the mutts, and the girl; the screaming. "Wake up, Freya, wake up!"

She opened her amber eyes to see Gimli looking down at her. His eyes were soft, and worried, which was something that Freya found strange in the Games; why didn't he had just killed her? She remembered asking him for help before she blacked out. That was when she realized that he was shirtless, and instead, it was wrapped around her side. She looked at the fifteen-year-old, before she blinked, and then said, "She's dead."

"Who, Freya? Who?" Gimli asked, looking at her.

"She is... she... the other girl got away, but she's dead," was all Freya could say, "She got ripped to pieces... she's dead... dead..."

Freya brought her hands up to her ears, covering them from the screams that were trapped inside her head. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, but had a flashback to the screaming, and the ripping of flesh, bone and blood. Her eyes flashed open, before she wrapped her arms around Gimli, and stared at his chest; tears pouring down her eyes.

"Freya... what happened to who?" Gimli said softly, holding her back awkwardly.

"She's dead..." Freya said softly, "The mutts... they almost got me too..."

"Who, Freya, please tell me," Gimli murmured into her ear.

Freya took a deep breath, and started trembling. She opened her mouth, but her voice was lost in her throat, and she just began to sob into his chest. Gimli sighed softly, before he held her closer, and began to rock her back and forth.

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><p><strong><span>Thanks to meepet, LilyMaeve, ZeDancingHobbit, Elf from Downunder, K9olaquia, Kooky Kit, thewayfaringstrangers, spitfire, and Yahhodily for reviewing. Thanks to LilyMaeve, ZeDancingHobbit, and thewayfaringstrangers for either subscribing to this story or my authorhood. Okay, I got a tumblr about updates for stories and what may or may not be preventing me from updating as so; the link is on my profile, even though links are broken. Or, you could just put kyonkichi9. in front of tumblr. com. Also, I am getting a surgery on my right hand TOMORROW so updates shall be limited seeing as I'll only be able to type with my left. Thanks for reading, and please review! <span>**


	10. Through the Fire and the Flames

_**~One Game to rule them all,  
>One Game to find them,<br>One Game to bring them all,  
><strong>__**And may the odds be ever in your favour.~**_

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><p>Legolas looked down at Sparkle in disgust; he knew that he should have been so prejudiced towards her, but he couldn't help but feel like she was failing their District by portraying them as weak. Sparkle had been injured again, this time much more seriously than before. Legolas knew that it was partly because of her injury on her leg that she had been hurt, but he knew that if she had not been so incompetent in getting an injury to her leg on the first day, then she would not be in this situation. What made the fact that she was hurt worse was the fact that she kept on moaning about being in pain.<p>

Legolas watched as Arwen returned from getting a plant she had called athelas, looking rather upset as she began to crush it up, mix it with water, and apply it to Sparkle's large wound. The bite marks had not yet stopped bleeding, and Sparkle was rapidly going paler with each second that passed. Legolas wondered if Arwen was actually feeling disappointed that Sparkle was going to die. Legolas, on the other hand, was feeling much better knowing that she would be out his hands soon, as was Lobelia, even though she was wandering around the corpses of the mutts, looking for anything that may be useful to them.

Arwen finished tending to Sparkle's wounds, and then stood up. Sparkle had passed out sometime during Arwen's medical practices, and was now breathing rather hollowly; though she had finally stopped bleeding. Arwen had blood on her hands, and Legolas handed her a small cloth that he usually used to clean the tips of his arrows so she could get it off. Arwen wiped her hands off, but said nothing to Legolas, not even muttering a word of thanks. Legolas immediately knew that there was something wrong with her, more than just the fact that Sparkle had been injured.

Legolas didn't know what to say to her, however, and instead left her alone. He knew that sometimes, when Emerald was upset, that she would just want to be alone, instead of being comforted by somebody. Legolas then realized that he never truly had comforted Emerald when anything bad happened to her. He suddenly missed his best friend dearly, but he knew that he would be coming back to her, so it didn't weight as heavily on his heart as it otherwise would have. Legolas knew that he couldn't afford any time to be sentimental, and instead he walked over to where Lobelia was kicking a corpse of the mutt.

"Damn these things! We can't even eat them, Leggy, their meat is black and filled with puss; it'd kill us if we tried! Fucking shits!" Lobelia cried out, and Legolas wondered if she was just upset because they had woken up in the middle of the night because of them. Legolas then made a resolve to never, ever wake Lobelia up when she was sleeping unless he absolutely had to.

"At least they did one good thing," Legolas muttered under his breath as he helped Lobelia haul a corpse off of their stockpile of supplies. Lobelia let a small smile slip through her lips, knowing that Legolas was indeed talking about how Sparkle had gotten injured. Both of them knew that she was more of a liability than something that would be useful to them, and both of them had wanted her dead since Training had begun.

"They didn't complete their job though," Lobelia said as they unceremoniously dumped the corpse of the mutt down on the ground. Lobelia then looked at Legolas, "They killed somebody else, though. This is starting to bother me, Legolas, how we aren't the ones to be killing them."

"We've been distracted by things," Legolas told her, and as an afterthought he added, _**'Sparkle's uselessness for instance,' **_to himself, as if it would bring him a better feeling that he had done nothing in these Games to help ensure his win. He felt frustrated in the fact that he had not been doing anything, and now two Tributes were dead. He had remembered when his sister won; every other Tribute that there was had been killed in her presence; her District Partner, her allies, and every other insignificant Tributes in the Games. Legolas felt like he was on the road to losing since had not killed a person since the first day.

"You mean that we've been stupid, Leggy. We need to go out and hunt for them, not wait around and hope that they will be stupid enough to come to us. As retarded as they are, they're not stupid enough to do that. It's so stupid, Leggy, Sparkle's an idiot. If she's not dead by the time the anthem plays, she will be," Lobelia left him off on this promise, as she yanked one of her spears from another mutt's corpse, and walked back to their supplies.

Legolas watched as she pulled out a piece of beef jerky, and ripped a decent chunk of meat off of the piece and chewed it with malice. Legolas wondered what person had died, and he hoped, like he had done with the boy from Four, that it was the boy from Two, Ara-something-or-other. Legolas knew that the boy would have been able to survive an attack like that if they all could, and that made him also feel very angry.

He wanted to find that boy, and kill him; Legolas would not let him live for much longer. The longer that boy lived, the longer Legolas felt like he would be unable to win these Games, and that was a feeling that he would not allow himself to feel. He sat down on a bag, and began to rip out some blood-stained grass, needing a way to get out his frustration without yelling or hurting anybody important on his alliance. Unfortunately for him, Sparkle was unconscious, as the day began to go on, Legolas would find that it would be rather wasted, with the exception of nearing the end.

Samwise had gotten very little sleep that next night; with the sounds of the mutts scrambling down the mountain sides, and the fact that one had been trying to get to him the night before made him uneasy. Even though he would never have slept as well here than at home, he felt more unrest knowing that there were scarier things than the Careers out there. When the cannon sounded, Sam had been wide awake, and was shaken to a point in which he could not go back to sleep.

After the sound echoed off the mountains, he had closed his eyes, and wished that whoever had died was not somebody that he had known. He thought about Rosie, with her dark eyes and hair, and her charming smile, and he felt reassured that she was better off than he was. The sponsors would clearly have given her money, and her Mentor would have certainly given her a gift if she was in immediate peril. Though Sam tried to reassure himself by thinking so, he could not help but remember how charming Frodo had been, and how he most likely had at least some sponsors, none of their gifts could have saved him from the giant spider-mutt in the caves.

He had been wide awake when the chirping sounds of birds brought upon a new sunlit morning, and he got down from his tree, before he began to make his way down the mountain. Sam wanted to get as far away as possible from Frodo's death site, and he wanted to get off of this mountain. He sensed an evil from it; and he knew why no other Tribute would have dared to walk up it. Sam had a feeling that all of the mutts originated from this one mountain, and they spread out during the night, terrorizing the other ones, before they returned to their caves.

Sam didn't care if it meant that he would be in more danger with Tributes stalking him at night instead of just mutts, Sam wanted to be off of this mountain. Though it meant more danger, Sam would feel much safer off of the mountain, and far, far away from the cave. None of the other Tributes had seen that giant spider-mutt, and Sam had a feeling that they would not ever see it in the rest of the Games. There was nobody else left in the world that had experienced the mutt first hand, and Sam wished that nobody else would see it.

He found a river soon enough, and stopped momentarily, taking sips of it as he finally decided to have some breakfast. His only food being lembas, Sam broke off a small piece, and ate it as he continued to walk down the mountain. He was really starting to hate the bread; finding it strangely filling for small pieces, and though it was tasty, after eating it for four days now.

Sam stopped in his tracks when he realized that he had only been in the arena for four days; it seemed to be so much longer than four days. It stretched on an eternity, and it was a long and terrible eternity. Sam hardly remembered his life before the Games; it seemed as though he had nothing there before he had been whisked away into these Games, and forced to watch as other died, and be killed himself.

Sam felt like this was all a dream, one that he would wake from, screaming, and then be comforted with the true reality. But Sam then realized that there would be no comfort in his reality; for this one terrible dream was his reality, and there was nothing that would change that. Samwise Gamgee then realized that he would most likely die at the age of fifteen. He was so young, but he was not the youngest.

He remembered that there was a twelve-year-old girl here from Five, a thirteen-year-old from Six, and a fourteen-year-old from Ten. He felt like this was some unjust way of ruling people like it was an unjust way of letting children with brilliant futures ahead of them die. He hated the Capitol, and what he hated more about them was the fact that he was unable to do anything about it. He felt like he was a bystander to a horrid crime; it was much worse than watching the Games.

Even though he could see how every Tribute died when he was watching the Games from the comforts of his home, here it felt worse. Sure, he could not see as they were ripped limb from limb, were taken by poison, or slowly starved to death, but he was a part of these Games. He felt as if he should have been there, and he should have prevented it from happening. He then figured that it was a natural human response, to want to save the lives of others, and Sam then knew that he had to abandon that response to the deaths of the Tributes.

He grimly smiled as he carefully avoided stepping on a small twig. He wondered why they were called Tributes; they were sooner called corpses. He remembered the Tributes from previous years; he remembered watching as they died, or as they won; and praying to whomever was out there that he would never be a part of these horrible Games. Sam assumed that he had not prayed hard enough, as he stopped.

He brought his hands to the back of his head, where the blood had matted his hair to his scalp. His head was spinning; he had clearly been walking to long for him to handle. He sat down, and began to take in deep breaths, trying to calm himself as the wind gently rustled the leaves and needles of the trees around him. It was so odd that the world around him could be at peace when there were children dying in it. He guessed that was what irony was; and he hated it.

Sam had finally decided to get to his feet when he saw something that resembled clouds in the sky. The wind seemed to pick up; much more than just the soft, gentle breeze that it had been before. Sam's eyes narrowed; perhaps it was a storm brewed by the Game Makers in an effort to keep the Games exciting. Sam's thoughts of a storm were destroyed once the wind blew the clouds in his direction; it was then clear by the smell of them that they weren't clouds.

Sam turned and rushed to the river; trying to avoid the large, billowing cloud of smoke that was headed in his direction.

It was Boromir that had awoken Merry in the morning, just as the sun was rising. Though Pippin and Merry did not trust him completely yet, Boromir offered to keep watch during the early hours of the night, allowing Pippin to get a full night's sleep, and getting Merry much more than what he would have otherwise gotten. For some strange reason, though Merry was untrusting of Boromir, he felt much safer with the older boy's presence around. Perhaps it was just a weight lifted off his shoulders; he was no longer the eldest of the alliance, and was no longer forced to be the leader. Merry had never been good at making heat-of-the-moment decisions, and he did not want to feel as if it all rested on him. He didn't want to make a life-costing mistake.

Merry had gotten up willingly, as Boromir then cut him a piece of the loaf of bread. Merry looked at him with a confused face; shouldn't they be saving their food for later on? Food was an important gift, from sponsors, or from the Cornucopia. Merry even noticed, in his sleep-hazed reality that Boromir had slathered some black berries over his piece. Merry's eyebrows were then raised.

Boromir, seemingly understanding what Merry meant with all of his facial expressions then said, "It was getting stale, and even if the crust gets mould, the whole loaf will be ruined. The berries were going to be rotten as well. We might as well eat the food we have before it becomes inedible."

Merry nodded at him and then suddenly felt much better about eating his rather large piece of bread. Merry noticed that the piece of bread that Boromir had cut for himself was sizably smaller than Merry's was, and that there were not many berries spread on it, but he figured that Boromir had probably wished for that to be so, and Merry made no comment about it. He took a bite of his bread, finding it close to stale, but not yet completely staled, and the berries sweet. It was the best breakfast that he had had since his last day in the Capitol.

Merry grinned to himself when he thought about how their first breakfast had not gone so well either; ending with finding that there was more dangerous things in the arena than just the Careers. Back then, it seemed to be so much worse, but now, he felt as though it was something laughable. If Merry survived these Games, (a feat he knew that he would not be able to achieve) he would have probably smiled upon that memory. Merry's heart sunk when he realized that if he was to win, that would mean that Boromir and Pippin would have to die.

Merry spared them both a glance; Pippin was still sleeping, and he rolled over, muttering things in his sleep as Boromir then gave him a small smile. Boromir noticed that Merry was looking at him, and he did not break eye contact, instead, he asked, "Shall I wake him?"

"Yes, we best be off soon if we want to make it to the grassland before the Careers decide to go hunting for other Tributes; that way it'd be safer for us, and it would probably be able to cripple more of them," What Merry truly meant, but never said was the fact that if there were more of them in the grassland, it would be more likely for more of them to die in the onslaught of fire they were to bring upon them. Merry, however, would never openly talk about murder, and did not voice this fact.

Boromir gave Merry a grim smile; the boy of fourteen did not have to voice his thoughts about death for it to be known to Boromir. Boromir then proceeding to ignore his thoughts of the murder they were planning, and then shook Pippin, "Pippin... Pippin! Get up!"

"Ugh... no..." Pippin turned away from Boromir, who raised his eyebrows at Merry, and gave an exasperated sigh.

"Just watch this," Merry said, a sly grin appearing on his face. Merry then walked over to Pippin, and shook him harder than what Boromir had done, "Pippin! Get up! Boromir's going to eat your breakfast!"

"WHAT?!" Pippin shot upwards to see Merry's smug expression and then watched as Boromir's face smoothed out into a smile, before chuckles escaped the boy from Twelve's lips. Pippin frowned at Merry, and hit him lightly on his arm, "You lied, Merry."

"It worked though," Merry pointed out, and Pippin's frown went from just a frown to an 'I'll-kill-you-while-you-sleep' sort of frown. The boy from Six's eyes narrowed drastically, and Merry could have sworn that Pippin's fingers were inching forwards towards his throat. Pippin would have refused that it even happened if Merry had decided to bring it up later; if there was a later for them.

Boromir stopped Merry's-to-be murder, by holding out a piece of bread to Pippin and said, "Here is your breakfast, Pippin. No need to get violent."

Pippin took the bread from Boromir, and bit into it without a second thought. Merry sighed, while Pippin then said, through a mouthful of bread and berries, "He brought it upon himself."

"I am sure he did," Boromir informed him in a sincere but sarcastic tone that made both Pippin and Merry smile. As the time went by with Boromir around, both of them were thinking that it was more and more a better idea that they allowed him to join their alliance. Boromir didn't seem like a menace; he seemed to be a good person, even though one day he would be their enemy.

Pippin finished his bread in silence, brooding over the fact that he would have to, one day, accept that either he or Boromir would be dead. He didn't want to think about the fact that Merry, him and Boromir would no longer be all there one day, but he could not help but hope that one of them would be the winner. Thinking of the Victor made Pippin then think back to the cannon that had sounded in the early morning.

"I don't want to be the bearer of bad news, but who d'you think died last night?" Pippin said suddenly, as the last of his bread was swallowed. Boromir and Merry immediately stiffened at this, and Pippin regretted bringing it up; even though it was a topic that they needed to discuss.

"The only thing that is certain is that it was not one of us, and that is all that matters," Boromir finally spoke, as he helped Merry roll up their blanket. Pippin nodded, and was glad that the conversation had been ended so swiftly. Merry looked at him, and gave him one of his 'you-shouldn't-have-done-that' sort of faces, before he turned away. Pippin then noticed that Merry was holding their unused pack of matches in his hand.

"Who's going to light the fire?" Pippin asked, hoping that it wouldn't be Merry or him; even though he liked Boromir, this murderous plot had been his, and he was the one who should be the one to light the grass on fire. Boromir looked at Pippin, and then sighed to himself.

"I will be, but I have an idea. We should each get ourselves a large bundle of grass, and we light each end on fire. This way, we shall be able to light fire to more grass than we would have otherwise been able to get," Boromir explained, and Merry nodded at him. It was a good idea; it would ensure that their fire would not get easily burned out, and that it would do their job.

"That's a good plan," Pippin admitted, before he looked at Boromir, "You seem to have a good knowledge of lighting things on fire... did you do anything when you were a kid?"

"Once I accidentally lit the Meadow on fire when I was six," Boromir told them with a small, sheepish smile, "My friend had brought a box of matches, and things went out of hand. Luckily, we ran away before we were caught."

Pippin laughed at this, while Merry shook his head, "You're a terrible influence, Boromir."

"I have been informed that, multiple times," Boromir said with a small smile as he thought about Faramir. He shook his head; he had no time to think about family, he had a plan he needed to finish. Pippin and Merry were quiet after Boromir said this; they knew that Boromir had a little brother, and they knew that he was probably thinking about him at this moment. Pippin thought back to his sisters; he wondered if they were watching him at this moment, sitting at the edge of their seats, hoping that he would come home.

Pippin felt a sadness that he had not felt since he was reaped; he missed his sisters for the first time since he had gotten into the Games. He then knew that he was not supposed to be feeling this; Pippin knew that the best thing for a Tribute to do when they were in the Games was to be completely devoid of all emotion, and not care for anything else. It was impossible for Pippin though, to not miss the ones he loved, and to think of the last time he saw them as the last time that he would ever see them.

It lingered in him as they got to their feet and began to make their way down the slope. As they drew nearer and nearer, the smell of rotting flesh grew, and soon they all were using their shirts to cover their noses so they could breathe properly. Though the oxygen was thinner up on the mountains, the air near the grassland was foul; almost like a poisonous fume. When they reached the edge of the grassland, it became apparent what exactly was poisoning the air.

Mounds of corpses of mutts (ones that they assumed killed the deer before) were spread across the grassland like coins would scatter if one threw them up in the air for children to catch. Merry gagged; it was a horrible sight, and he wondered how the Careers were managing to live when they were surrounded by these mutts. Merry felt the urge to throw up the bread and berries that he had eaten, but he convinced himself to keep it in with the knowledge that it would certainly not taste as good the second time as it did the first.

Boromir shuddered visually and then knew that he would be doing a favour to just more than himself, Pippin and Merry. By burning the grassland and the corpses of the mutts, he would be doing the very people he was trying to burn off a favour as well. Nobody should have been submitted to live in a land made of rotten flesh and bones, but they were, though Boromir knew that if they were not lazy, they could easily move their supplies up into the mountain.

They commenced their plan, Boromir handing Pippin and Merry both two matches for them to strike, in the case that they to light their grass bundles in time, before he rushed to his spot by the lake. He waited until smoke was rising in the air before he then lit his grass bundle, and set fire to the nearby grass. Both Pippin and Merry had made it to the lake before the wind picked up (it was now when Boromir realized that the Game Makers were aiding them with their plan) and the fire spread through the grass.

They stood, knee-high in the water, watching as the grassland blazed a bright red. For a moment, it was almost beautiful; watching as the flames flickered ruby and amber, rising up into the sky as if they wanted to join the sun. It was, indeed, a beautiful sight before the screams started.

At first, they were panicked screams of more than one person, and then it was just one, high-pitched whiny scream in pain, shouting out curses to the world, and a boy named Legolas in particular. Merry's face had turned white at the sound of the girl's scream, and he looked at Boromir as if he wanted some support. The boy from Twelve's eyes were squeezed tight, as if he was trying to block out the screams without bringing his hands to cover his ears, before they flashed open, and he looked at the boys.

"We should go; the fire is burning low, and the Careers may find out that we were the ones to burn down their supplies and kill their ally," Boromir was speaking rather loudly over the scream, but as his sentence continued, the scream died down to nothing, and after his words were over, there was nothing but the crackling of the flames to be heard.

Pippin was the first to respond, "We should go to the mountain behind the lake; it should be the safest for us."

"Good-" Merry was cut off by the loud boom of the cannon. For him, it was the loudest one to be, since he knew that he was partly responsible for that person's (most like a girl) death. Merry then continued, face white and voice shaky, "thinking Pip… let's go."

As the flames started to go down, through the smoke one could see three figures running in the shallow ends of the lake, their every step bringing up a small splash, before they disappeared through the forest of the nearest mountain to them.

Aragorn noticed the smoke before he noticed the fire. He quickly grabbed his things from his perch in his tree, and scrambled downwards. It was when he was on the ground, he heard somebody cry out his name. He whirled around, and saw Arwen, coughing, and running towards him. Her face was tinted grey from smoke, ash littering her hair, and she was almost wheezing by the time she had gotten to him.

When she was right in front of him, she put her hands on her knees, and began to cough, taking in deep breaths. Aragorn stood there, uncertain of what he was supposed to do with her, as she hacked and spat on the ground, before her blue eyes flashed upwards and met his. "Fire… in the grassland… everything's gone…"

Aragorn nodded, before he then grabbed Arwen's hand, and said, "Can you run some more?"

Arwen gave him a small smile as she nodded in return, but she said nothing more. Her breathing was still heavy, as Aragorn gripped her hand tighter, and began to lead her higher into the mountain, away from the burning flames of the grassland. Eventually, Arwen was gripping his hand back, and she was running up to speed with him, even though her breathing was rather ragged and shallow. Aragorn knew that it would be better for them to actually be going down the mountain where the air was much more easily breathed, but the smoke and fire were descending upon them from that direction. Though he knew it was better, he would rather not risk death over easy breathing.

Finally, Aragorn decided that they were far away enough for them to stop, and as they did so, Arwen got down to her knees, and began to cough again. Aragorn stood there awkwardly, before he then began to reach into his bag, and took out his bottle of juice, handing it to Arwen. She looked at him, tears streaming down her face from the intensity of her coughing, before she nodded in thanks, and took it.

She sat down on the bed of pine needles, and took small sips of the juice. Aragorn followed suit, and ended up just playing with the pine needles, not knowing what to say. Finally, Arwen regained her voice, and said, "Thank you."

"It was nothing," Aragorn muttered back, before he looked up at her. Her genuine smile made him feel the need to inform her that he planned on killing her later on in these Games, and that only one of them could go home, but he could not bring himself to say so. He felt as though it would be a lie if he did. "Do you know what started the fire?"

Arwen shook her head as she handed the juice back to Aragorn, "No… it could be the Game Makers, it could be some other Tributes, but I didn't see anything."

"Do you know who the cannon was for?" Aragorn asked, blunt as ever. Arwen looked at him for a moment, and then sighed.

"It wasn't Legolas; that is for sure. Either Lobelia or Sparkle; I have no idea who it was, I was already running towards you," Arwen informed him, shaking her head.

"Why were you running to me?" Aragorn was confused about this; it would have been better for her to stay with her Career Alliance instead of running off with him.

"I wanted to know if you had seen the fire; I wanted to see if you were okay," Arwen admitted, and then Aragorn knew that Arwen should have definitely not volunteered for these Games. He shook his head, and gave a small sigh, as he rummaged through his bag, placing the juice bottle back in it. They sat in silence for only a couple moments, before Arwen got to her feet. "We should go."

"No, we shouldn't," Aragorn contradicted, as he raised his eyebrows at her, "You've breathed in some smoke; it'd be better for you to rest."

"If we don't move, some other Tributes will find us," Arwen said, looking over her shoulder as if to add extra meaning to her point. Aragorn got up as well, and grabbed her shoulder, bringing her back down to the ground.

"If they do, I'll kill them, Arwen, it's not that hard," Aragorn told her softly.

"What if it's Legolas?" Arwen's eyes were wide, and Aragorn shook his head and gave a small laugh.

"If it is Legolas, I'll try extra hard to kill him. Calm down, Arwen, I'm only saying this because it's better for you," Aragorn said the last sentence without thinking, and he then turned away from her. Arwen smiled at his back, before she began to concentrate on her breathing. Her lungs felt heavy with the little smoke that she had actually inhaled, and she knew that Aragorn was right; it would be better for her to just sit down and breathe.

Freya had been the first person to notice the smoke coming from the direction of the grassland, even though she was still pale and weak. Gimli was shocked when she got to her feet, and then, without saying anything, pointed her tiny, shaking finger at a column of smoke that was rising in the air. He turned around to see it as well, and immediately packed up his blanket. Swinging his backpack over his shoulder, he looked back to see Freya leaning against a tree.

"Go on, Gimli, I'll be okay," She told him, a weak smile on her face. It was that smile that told Gimli that the clever twelve-year-old was lying. He walked over to her, and ignored her small protest as he swooped her up in his arms. She was light compared to the heavy power-processing machines that Gimli had to carry in his work, and he didn't even think twice about carrying her up the mountain, away from the oncoming fire. The only thing carrying Freya hindered Gimli was the fact that he couldn't run as fast as he wanted to.

Freya gave a surprised yelp as the boom of the cannon reached them, jerking in Gimli's arms and almost causing him to drop her. She gave him a sheepish smile afterwards, and he gave her one in return, before he continued running; though know his thoughts were mingled with the fact that yet another Tribute had died. Though Freya was quiet, Gimli knew that she was thinking the exact same thing as he was.

Gimli had still not managed to get Freya to tell him was the girl who had died last night, and he knew that he shouldn't push it. She was only twelve; Gimli knew that she shouldn't have to deal with all of the killings and watching people be ripped to shreds. But, Gimli knew that every person in Panem was watching these Games; it was mandatory to watch as these Tributes were starved and stabbed to death. Gimli had never enjoyed watching the Games, and if he got out of them alive, he knew that he never would.

Gimli was almost at the tree line when he decided that it would be safe enough for them to stop, and he looked back at the sky. He couldn't see the setting sun through the smoke, and he desperately hoped that he would be able to see the screen to show the dead. Gimli was not one to want somebody dead; he wasn't searching for a certain face in the sky, he was just curious, as most people fighting for their lives would be. What he wanted to know was who had failed at staying alive; _**who was the one that he had beaten?**_

Freya had gotten up, even though she was still unsure of her feet. Gimli watched as she got out a spool of wire, and walked off into the forest. She returned within moments, her wire still intact, holding a rabbit with a large burn on its back. She raised her eyebrows at Gimli, and then said, "There is already enough smoke in the air, if we light a fire, we won't be spotted. The sun's still bright enough to hide the light of the fire, and this rabbit was going to die anyways."

Gimli smiled at the girl's resourcefulness, and then watched as she started a fire, and prepared the rabbit. Gimli's stomach gave a rather loud and embarrassing grumble as he thought of eating the rabbit, which caused Freya to laugh at him. "You haven't eaten a real meal since the Capitol, have you?"

"No," Gimli replied in a gruff voice, looking at the rabbit on the spit with an intense stare; to Freya, it was like he was trying to get the rabbit to cook faster. She smiled at him, but said nothing more as she turned the rabbit round and round. After a painstaking amount of time, Freya stomped the fire out, and then handed Gimli his half of the rabbit.

"Happy Hunger Games," She said, raising her rabbit to the sky.

Gimli took his and did the same, but added, "And may the odds be ever in your favour," in the most sarcastic tone one could muster. This caused Freya to giggle yet again, but she hid it as she took a bite of her rabbit. Gimli followed suit, and found that even though he had been eating Capitol food four days ago, this rabbit was probably the best thing that he had ever eaten.

When they were finished, night had fallen and Gimli was now searching for a tree large enough to allow them both to sleep in. Since they were so near the top of the mountain, the trees had dwindled down to trees that probably wouldn't even be able to hold Gimli's weight. He grumbled to himself, as Freya then suggested, "I will watch, you can sleep first, seeing as I slept a lot yesterday."

"Are you sure?" Gimli said and she nodded. He then handed her his axe and said, "Don't murder me in my sleep, please."

Freya smiled at him, "I won't."

"I'll hold you to that," Gimli told her as he tried to make himself comfortable on the ground. He was looking up at the sky, watching as the smoke slowly was whisked away by the soft wind. Gimli had noticed that the nights were much cooler than the days, as he watched Freya shiver from her spot a little ways away from him. He smiled to himself, before he handed her his blanket. "You need it. I'll be fine."

"B-b-but…" Freya's teeth were chattering, making her argument a rather lame one. She just shook her head, but Gimli shook his in return, and then sat back down.

Both Gimli and Freya were startled again when the anthem blared across the arena. Gimli spared a glance over at Freya during the time the seal was showing, and saw that she was staring intently at the screen. Gimli thought that she would have looked away from it, but he knew that she was curious to see who had been the other cannon.

Finally, the seal disappeared, and the first face to show was the blonde-haired, green-eyed girl from One, and after a couple of seconds of her smiling face staring down at him, it was replaced by another girl's. Her hair was dark, as were her eyes. Her mouth was not smiling like the girl from One's had been, but nonetheless Gimli could not deny that she was pretty. The girl from Eleven's face disappeared from the sky, and after the blaring of the anthem again, the arena grew dark.

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><p><strong>Thanks to K9olaquia, Maya, Elf from Downunder, takulyra444, D.L Sauron- AlmightyLOTRnerd, Riverstorm16 and Guest for reviewing! I'm sorry for my absence, but my hand is better now! (Even though summer vacation is almost over...) Thank you for reading, and please review! <strong>


	11. Riddles in the Dark

_**~One Game to rule them all,  
>One game to find them,<br>**__**One Game to bring them all  
><strong>__**And may the odds be ever in your favour~**_

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><p>Sam had been lucky enough to not inhale much smoke, and the little smoke that he had inhaled certainly did not bother him much. His breathing had a certain wheezing sound to it, but it certainly was not as bad as it could have been. Sam remembered when there was a fire because of lightning in District Eleven; many of the harvesters had died, but Sam was informed that most of them choked to death on the smoke rather than being burned to death. But Sam knew that either Rosie or the girl from One had not choked to death in this fire.<p>

However dim the girl from One seemed to be, Sam knew that she was certainly smart enough to not breathe in the smoke, and Rosie... Sam didn't want to think about Rosie; he knew that either way, her death would have been extremely painful. He wasn't sure which one he preferred her to have; being burned to death, or ripped to pieces. Sam thought about her beautiful smile, and how she had certainly gotten many sponsors. He then guessed that he had those sponsors now, but he was not happy for this moment.

He had always wanted it to be Rosie to see his face in the sky rather than him seeing hers. He never wanted to see the only person from his home be killed while he still lived. Sam never wanted to see anybody he knew face up there. He was fortunate enough to be unconscious when Frodo was shown, but now, with the only two people he could relate to dead, Sam felt more alone than he had ever in these Games. But Sam knew to be a Victor meant to be alone.

He was starting to wonder if he could make it; Sam didn't want to be responsible for Frodo or Rosie's deaths, but now that they were gone, he was beginning to think that he would be able to get out of these Games. He could through knives very well, and he had plenty of food. He knew that the Game Makers would drive him down to meet the other Tributes sooner or later, but he also knew that if he could be away from them in the meantime, he would certainly have a better chance at surviving.

Sam got himself out of the river finally. Night had begun to fall, and with it brought cold, and the mutts. For being in the water all day, Sam felt rather waterlogged and freezing as he spotted a decent tree to climb. He attempted to climb the tree with his sopping clothes, but he was still weak from losing a lot of blood, and he ended up stripping down to his under clothes for the second time in the Games. Once in the tree, he hung his clothes to dry again, and wrapped himself up in his blanket.

He wondered if it was just him or if the Game Makers had purposely made each night colder than the last, because even with his heat-reflecting blanket he felt cold. He wished that his clothes were dry, but he knew that it was better that he went into the river than if he had gone elsewhere. He much rather preferred to be cold, wet and miserable than dry nursing a burn with risk of infection, or burnt to a crisp.

Sam shivered as he pressed himself closer to the tree, hoping, for some strange reason that it would warm him up in anyway. It didn't. The tree was cold and though Sam knew it lived, felt lifeless. After being alone for now three days, Sam was missing the company of people instead of trees. He missed talking to his friends, or having small talk with Frodo. He wanted to have Frodo back, even though it would mean that he was not as well-off in these Games as he would be right now.

He was about to drift to sleep when he heard a scuffling sound, and hard wheezing. Sam stiffened; hoping that nobody would find him up in the tree dressed in only his underpants. He reached over, and grabbed his knives from where they were hanging, and brought them closer to his chest. He looked down below him, and saw a figure in the distance. He heard a strangled cry, as he then realized that the person was a girl as she leaned against the tree Sam was in.

He realized that she was crying, having a hard time breathing most likely due to smoke inhalation. She got up from the tree, and began to limp away from the tree before she fell to the ground. Sam watched as she turned so her face was up, looking at the moon, and he heard her sobs.

"Why?" Sam heard her say, and repeat over and over again. He felt pity towards the girl, but he did not want to confront her at night with so much skin exposed. It took him awhile, but he got used to her whimpers and whining and he fell asleep.

Sam woke up earlier than expected when a large cannon sounded off; echoing around the arena and causing Sam's shirt to fall from the tree. He looked over to where the girl was laying; the morning sun appearing over the mountains and lighting her face. Her eyes were open, and glassy. Sam saw that her shirt was burned off, and her skin on her chest was red and shiny. Sam then noticed that she was covered in burns, but, unlike the ones on her chest, her skin was black and crispy.

He put on his pants in the tree, before he climbed down, and retrieved his shirt. After putting his shirt on, Sam walked over to the girl, who he recognized as the girl from Twelve. He checked to see if she was breathing, even though he highly doubted it. There was no sign of life; even her burned skin felt cool to the touch. Her hair was burned and it rested unevenly at her chin, but nearing the back of her head, it burned all the way to her scalp, and a red blister shone there.

Sam felt the urge to throw up, but he then found that she had a small pack about a half metre away. He rummaged through it and found some dried meat, and a stale loaf of bread. He put her food into his pack and was about to leave before he looked back at her. He then walked over to her, and gently closed her eyes for her. He knew that she was dead and there was no way that he would be able to make her look like she had fallen asleep, but it made him feel like he wasn't as terrible as he thought he was.

The cannon sound woke Freya; she jerked upwards and had the blanket fall off of her body. Gimli's eyes flickered around their camp, but there was nothing to be seen. Gimli visually relaxed, but he was still very wary, his eyes constantly looking up into the woods; his head turning over his shoulder in the case that the boy from One had come with his bow. Freya got up, and then went over to get the remainders of the rabbit.

She tore it into even pieces, and then handed Gimli his piece, before she sat down. She was still weak, but recovering, and she couldn't help but realize how much nicer it was to be in the presence of another person. Even if it only had been three days since she had been in the hostile presence of people, it took its toll on her. Now that there was Gimli to help keep watch, she was able to get better sleep, and hopefully he knew a thing or two about getting food.

Freya watched as Gimli ate his rabbit. She narrowed her amber eyes, studying him as he peered out into the woods. He seemed distracted to her, and her point was further proven when some food feel from Gimli's mouth and landed on his shirt. He looked down at it for a couple of seconds before he picked it up and slowly put it in his mouth.

"What is bothering you, Gimli?" Freya finally asked, tired of having him just sit there looking like a fool in front of all of Panem. Well, Freya then thought, they were most likely not going to be shown. That blond girlish boy from One was too pretty for the cameras to turn away from him, and probably out there slaughtering whoever the cannon was for. She then wondered if it was the cannon that had bothered Gimli.

"Who do you think died?" Gimli said, though he wasn't exactly focused on her. He continued, "Who do you think was murdered this time?"

Freya's eyes widened at Gimli's sentence. The word murder used in the Games... Though Freya knew that the word described what they were forced to do, it was not something that was ever uttered by a Tribute before. She was half expecting the ground to split under Gimli's feet and for him to fall into an abyss to his death, or for him to just explode at this moment. His sentence was not going to make the Game Makers happy at all.

"I-I... I don't know," Freya stammered, trying to regain control of her thoughts. She knew that it would be better for her to leave Gimli know; however much she enjoyed his company. Those words were not going to be left unpunished. The Game Makers would most likely send mutts their way, or natural disasters planted in a way just to kill them. Well... not the both of them. Just Gimli. She trembled as she thought of how much danger just one question had put her in.

Freya was not optimistic about her chances in these Games. She was only twelve, and though she was not a young and innocent twelve-year-old like was expected, she was still younger than most of them. She was doomed to die. She hadn't ever heard of a twelve-year-old winning the Games; it hadn't happened in her life-time, at least. But even so, she still wanted to try to go home; she hadn't lost complete hope yet. She was clever, and could outsmart Tributes. Though she knew that she was going to die, she did not want to die because of the words of Gimli Oxford.

Unpleasant thoughts began to form into Freya's head. She had a knife; a small one that she had spotted in the grasslands closest to her platform. It was the size of her pinkie finger, but it was sharp. She could easily slit Gimli's throat when she took watch that night. It was dangerous, but a possibility. Freya then realized that if she wanted to kill him, it would be better to poison him with some berries. He trusted her, and he did not know any better.

She then realized that she was planning on killing Gimli. Gimli Oxford; the Tribute from her own District and her connection to home. He was the boy who had only been nice to her since the Reaping; the boy who shared her last days of relative carelessness with her. The Games were truly corrupting her thoughts. She felt terrible; she felt like a monster, and Gimli was oblivious to it.

"Who do you suppose would have died?" Gimli seemed to have focused back to the world.

"It could be anybody, Gimli," Freya told him, not really wanting to get into detail about the cannon that symbolized somebody's last moments being over.

"Do you think that the girl from One killed them?" Gimli asked, his mouth in a clear frown. Freya looked at him in shock.

"The girl from One died, Gimli," Freya said, a look of confusion appearing on her face. She wondered what Gimli had meant by that. Perhaps he meant that the girl from One had injured the most recently dead Tribute and caused her to bleed to death, or she had poisoned them with a slow-acting poison.

Gimli smiled before he clarified, "The other girl from One died. I mean the girl with the bow."

Freya then felt embarrassed for over analyzing his statement, but she also felt a smile appear on her face. No, she could not kill Gimli, and she didn't think that the Game Makers could either. He was a source of entertainment; his sarcastic comments were clearly something that most people of the Capital would enjoy watching.

"That girl with the bow has killed a lot of Tributes. I think at least half of the kills in the bloodbath were hers," Freya commented, playing along with Gimli. She then realized that she would probably never be able to call the boy from One a boy anymore, and now that the girl was dead, there would be no confusion over who they were talking about.

"She almost hit me," Gimli said nonchalant. "I gave him the finger after though," he added, almost like an afterthought.

Freya smiled at him. No, the Game Makers would let that comment slide; Gimli was far too much of an entertainment to have him get killed off in a boring way.

Estella stopped in her tracks as the cannon sounded; holding out her hand to tell Diamond to stop, she surveyed the area for a couple of seconds, gripping onto the knife in her hand harder. She heard nothing but the bird calls and Diamond's heavy breathing. Estella dropped her hand and continued walking. Diamond stumbled along after her.

Estella grit her teeth; it had only been two days, and Diamond was already starting to grate on her nerves. She was physically weak, asking to stop often when they walked, and she was loud in the woods. It was no wonder that the Careers had been chasing after Diamond when Estella found her. Even her breathing was heavy, and Estella swore that Diamond snored as loudly as her grandmother.

But, having Diamond was also a benefit; she got more sleep, and Diamond knew plants and learned traps at the Training Centre. Diamond could use the wire that Estella hadn't use for in a couple of days. She was also from District Six; the one that stupid boy from the first day had been from. She had information. She told her about the boy she kept on calling Pippin. Estella refused to call him that. She called him Peregrin whenever she had to.

From what Estella heard about Peregrin, he was very much like Meriadoc, and there was no question why they both were in an alliance together. They were both blithering idiots, and they bounded over their slingshots in the Training Centres. But Estella knew that two stupid people could be dangerous.

Another thing that Diamond was useful for was an easy kill for Estella. If Estella wanted to get out of these Games, having an alliance with Diamond would make it far easier to betray her with a knife in the back. Estella actually found herself thinking of how exactly she would kill Diamond when it got to that. She was tempted to choke her; the girl made very many annoying and obvious comments that Estella had wished to choke her for a long while.

But she kept her patience. Diamond was useful. For now. She would not be in when Estella found Meriadoc and Peregrin. She wanted to get Meriadoc gone from this world; preferably before she did. She knew that if she made it back to District Ten the people would find her uncomfortable for killing off her fellow Tribute, but there was only one Victor allowed. And Estella knew that it was going to be her.

Aragorn turned, not hearing Arwen's footsteps for a long while, and saw the girl crouched down, collecting some berries from a bush. Aragorn sighed to himself, before he walked back down to meet her. She held them out to him, and he rolled on in his fingers; blackberries. He didn't know why Arwen kept on collecting food; stripping bushes from their berries, taking mushrooms from their logs, and ripping roots out of the ground. He had his bag of apples, and the small remainders of the juice. Arwen had her water canister and a medium sized back pack, filled with medicine and the food she was collecting, that she had salvaged from the flames. They were set, yet Arwen kept on doing this.

Aragorn popped the berry into his mouth, concealing a sigh as he pierced the skin, and allowed the juice to flow into his mouth. Well, he was starting to get sick of eating apples, and since he had a vast knowledge on wild-life plants, Arwen would not be able to poison him. She took her time putting the berries in a separate pocket of the backpack, which was already almost filled to the brim with berries, before she zipped it up and put it on her back.

She smiled at him, before they started walking again. They hardly ever spoke when they travelled; the only thing that he had said to her this morning was the cannon. Arwen had already silently set up breakfast, so he didn't need to ask her about that.

Whenever he was around her, he felt tense. There could only be one Victor, and he wasn't going to let Arwen live so he could die. He kept on thinking about ways to kill her, and each and every one ended with him being abandoned by his Mentor. Elrond just happened to be Arwen's father, and Aragorn could not help but realize at what a disadvantage this put him in. If Aragorn killed Arwen, Elrond could abandon him. He knew that it would drastically put him in a position to die.

He gritted his teeth when he thought of all of the sponsors dying to get that Greenleaf whatever he needed, and since his District Partner had died, he had no competition. Aragorn knew that gifts had saved the lives of many in the Hunger Games, and he did not want to be left out of that equation.

It then dawned upon Aragorn that Elrond was very much like his father; taking him in after Aragorn's real father had died, training him, encouraging him. Elrond would not abandon him, though Aragorn felt that Elrond would certainly dislike him passionately if he killed Arwen.

But, the more that he looked at Arwen, the more he could find himself not wanting to kill her. He knew her; they were children together, and they trained together. He could only hope that somebody would kill her before he had to.

The silence began to weigh on Aragorn's shoulders more than the bag of apples and his pack. Finally, Aragorn then said, "Why do you keep on doing that?"

"Doing what?" Arwen asked, clearly confused at Aragorn's question.

"That," He pointed to the berries in her hands. Arwen raised her eyebrows at him sceptically.

"You are not being very specific, Aragorn," Arwen told him, her lips pursed. Aragorn sighed in frustration.

"Why do you keep on collecting every edible thing that we walk by?" Aragorn spelled out irately, as if it was obvious from the start. Arwen frowned at his tone before a small smile appeared on her lips.

"So nobody else can eat them, of course," She smirked at him. Aragorn stopped in his tracks and Arwen walked by. He looked at her back; so she was clever enough to win these Games if she wanted. Arwen's threat level rose significantly then, but also her use. She was clever and resourceful. Perhaps they would be able to get to the end together.

He didn't want to think of what would happen after that.

Lobelia was beginning to not trust Legolas. Sure, she had liked him better than Arwen or Sparkle (though that was no competition, anybody was better than her), but he was starting to make her uneasy. Though Legolas thought that she hadn't seen it, she did. Lobelia had seen the whole thing. The flames were no shield to the act that Legolas committed. She was sure that the cameras had caught it too, and if they didn't, the people in charge were probably executed.

It always did stir up some drama in the Capitol whenever a Tribute killed their District Partner.

Lobelia knew that Sparkle was a goner; she was stupid enough to get injured on the first day, and she was the only one to be injured in the mutt attack. Once the wall of flames bonded down upon them, there was no question that Sparkle would burn to death; she could hardly move, dragging her leg behind her and huffing and crying, making desperate noises in an effort to make somebody go back to help her.

Legolas went back to help her. Well, that's what Lobelia thought. Arwen had already been lost in the fire, and Lobelia was surprised that she hadn't died. Perhaps she was somewhere else. Lobelia was already feeling a sense of distance between Arwen and the rest of the group. But, with Arwen gone, Lobelia thought that Legolas would try to keep Sparkle; as useless as the bitch was in Lobelia's opinion, she could at least throw a knife straight. She might have been useful.

Legolas didn't think so, apparently, for he stood a two metres away from her, and drew his bow. Lobelia could see the golden weapon flicker with firelight, especially the pointed arrowhead. She thought that Legolas would be nice to Sparkle; apart from Arwen, Legolas was pretty tolerant of Sparkle, having lived with her longer than the other two. She thought that he would just use the arrow to end Sparkle's existence quickly and painlessly. She was, obviously, wrong.

Legolas aimed it downwards, on Sparkle's good leg, and shot. She watched as Sparkle crumpled on the ground, screaming profanities at Legolas, and then, screaming in general as the flames hounded upon her. Legolas had run back to her, and she knew that he thought she didn't see anything.

"She was already burned, I couldn't do anything," He had lied so easily, and if Lobelia hadn't seen it, she would have believed it.

She lied back easily too, Lobelia had had lots of practice lying to people. "She doomed from the start anyways. It was time that she was gone; seriously, she was starting to grate on my nerves."

Lobelia wasn't going to let Legolas know what she had seen, but she wasn't going to hurt Legolas yet. He was a useful ally. He could shoot, and out of all of the Careers, Lobelia liked Legolas the best. He was funny, and he tolerated stupid as a stupid person tolerates smart. He was the best fighter out of all of them and Lobelia knew that it would harm her in the future, so she could only hope that when they were tracking Tributes he would get injured.

Lobelia stood up, rolling a small piece of charcoal in her hands. "There were definitely people here. Judging by the disturbed pine needles, there were two. They slept here and here. Maybe they're those bitches who broke your bow."

"I hope they are," Legolas growled as he looked down at the pine needles.

"Oh, did I hit a soft spot, elf-boy?" Lobelia titled her head to the side and raised her eyebrows. Legolas raised his in return.

"Elf-boy?"

"I figured that you'd hate fairy boy even more, but since you're coping with the loss of Sparkle," She sneered at this, and Legolas scoffed, "I'd lay it easy on you. You're just too girly to not call you something like that, Leggy."

"Let's go, Lobelia, they can't be far ahead, we could surely catch them," Legolas said, and Lobelia smiled at him again. Though she was untrusting of Legolas, he sure took her banters better than most. He was girly though, there was no doubt about it.

"You sure we should be doing this?" Lobelia said for at least the fifth time, "We inhaled a lot of smoke."

"So would have the other Tributes," Legolas said stiffly, and Lobelia sighed.

"Whatever you say, elf-boy."

They continued their hunt up the mountain, silently, on a light tread. Lobelia kept an eye out for any Tribute. After a couple of hours, she saw a flash of fabric. She stopped, spear poised. Legolas looked over at Lobelia, and drew an arrow. A flash of auburn was enough to tell Legolas that he had found not who he was looking for, but somebody he had already held a grudge against.

The auburn head moved slightly, and he then saw that it was not the boy, but instead the girl from the same District as him. Legolas took in a silent breath, and waited until the girl was closer. She saw Legolas too late, and it dawned upon her face as he let the arrow fly.

Boromir looked out at the forest; through the hazy fog of the morning, he thought he saw a figure move. He picked up his knife, and watched as Merry and Pippin stirred in their sleep. He couldn't help but smile at them; they looked so innocent, being only fourteen and thirteen. Their faces seemed much more boyish in their sleep, and the cold of the night had made their cheeks a rosy red. Boromir then wondered how many women in the Capitol were currently squealing over how adorable the two Tributes looked.

Boromir, however, could not be distracted by his two allies, as he peered through the fog. The shape had disappeared, but Boromir was sure that he had seen it. He grew discomforted; first the cannon, and then this shape lurking around. This was definitely not a good way to start of his morning. He decided that it was time to rouse Pippin and Merry, and he gently shook the both of them awake.

"We should go," He whispered softly to the sleepy boys. They nodded, not truly understanding the paranoid look on Boromir's face before they readied themselves to go. Boromir immediately felt better once they started moving, even though there was an ache in his stomach from the lack of food. He looked around for any sign of berries that he recognized but there were none.

It was Pippin who had first started to complain about hunger, "Boromir, do you suppose there will be any food anywhere near here?"

"Pippin, it is called the Hunger Games for a reason," Boromir replied with a small grin on his face. As soon as he turned away from Pippin, the grin fell from his face though; there was no food around here, and they were to go hungry. Boromir did not want to risk shaving away at some pine; it would make it clear that they had been there, and if the remaining three Careers were after them, it would not be a good idea.

"We should really start looking for some food," Merry commented, and Boromir looked down at them. There was food; though it wasn't exactly the most nutritious, it was something. He knew that he should tell them, even though they would probably not be able to eat it.

"We can eat the pine," Boromir said softly, and Pippin raised his eyebrows at him. The smallest of the boys walked over and picked up a fallen stick covered with bark, and then looked at it.

"So, we just start taking large bites out of trees?" Pippin asked as he waved the branch around. Merry and Boromir smiled at him, but Boromir shook his head.

"You shave down the bark and eat the inside. We cannot do it, though, it will leave a clear marker that we were there," Boromir sighed, and he watched as Pippin's face fell. Merry, however, grew a devious smile that made Boromir rather uncomfortable. "What are you thinking, Merry?"

"Well," Merry tried to act nonchalant, and Pippin glared at him. He quickly continued, "It will only leave a marker if we do it in a place that they will see. Pass me the knife; I'll climb a tree and get it for you."

Boromir wondered if Merry was truly capable of climbing a tree while carrying a knife, but he handed the knife to Merry nonetheless. He stood at the base of the pine tree (one that was relatively easy to climb) and waited to catch Merry if he was to fall. Finally, after the branches began to crack with his weight, Merry began to scrape the bark away with the knife carefully. Wind shook the tree, and Merry was thinking that the Game Makers were doing it just to get him even more uncomfortable than he already was.

Merry had to admit it to himself at this moment; he did not like heights. He hated them; detested them, despised them with a passion. Yet, he had done it because he didn't want Pippin to get hurt (as clumsy as the boy was, he half expected him to trip over an ant one day), and, he would also admit, he wanted to prove it to Boromir that he wasn't useless. Merry knew that Boromir was physically stronger than them, and he knew how to find food, but it was Merry's idea to get the bark at the top of the tree, and he wasn't going to let Boromir take credit. Though he was destined to die in these Games, Merry had pride that he wished to keep.

The tree swayed uneasily again, and it was starting to make both Boromir and Pippin worry. Merry worked away, however, getting them food, and when he finally had gotten enough bark into his hands, he began to scale down the tree. He was a metre off of the ground when he misplaced his foot and came tumbling down into Boromir's waiting arms.

Shaken, Merry was let down by Boromir, who gave him a rather large grin. Merry then held up his giant hand full of bark, "I got the food!"

"And you almost killed yourself," said Pippin, shaking his head at Merry. Boromir laughed at the two, before they split the hand full of bark into even sections and began to chew on it. It was dry, and in Pippin's opinion, rather hard to swallow, but it was food, and his stomach was demanding to be filled with something. After it was gone, Pippin felt a little bit better, but he was still wishing that he had something better to eat.

"We should get moving, we have spent a long time here," Boromir said finally, he looked around; the fog had not yet lifted, and it was starting to bother Boromir. Even with the high winds, it remained, and Boromir could not help but feel like there was something lurking around in it. He wanted to keep moving; hoping that they would be able to shake whatever was in there off.

"You're right," Pippin agreed, though he did not feel the same sense of urgency that Boromir did. They gathered their small belongings, and then set off. Pippin was hoping that they would stumble across more food on the way, but he was not hopeful. They continued to walk, following a small stream that was the only source of water on this mountain behind the lake.

The area around them started to grow rocky; they were not yet at the end of tree line and they were still concealed from anybody else. Large boulders appeared, and the ground grew more and more rocky, as they watched the stream lead into a mouth of a small cave.

It was then that the sun was concealed by a large cloud, and the smell of rain hit Boromir. He looked in the cave, and then realized that the Game Makers were drawing them into it with the rain. He felt uncomfortable, but as he heard the sound of rain upon leaf, he knew that he would not be able to convince Pippin and Merry otherwise.

The cave's walls were smoothed out, and coming from the cave were humanoid noises. They stopped in their tracks when they heard a gnarled voice clearly sing, accompanied by splashing:

'_**What a joy to meet!  
><strong>__**We only wish  
><strong>__**To catch a fish,  
><strong>__**So juicy-sweet!'***_

Pippin had taken a step backwards and Boromir had drawn the knife, putting his arms out to protect the two younger boys from whatever was there as it lifted its head and gave a distinctive cough of '_gollum, gollum.'_

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><p><em><strong>*That is taken directly from Tolkien. Yay the awesomeness of Tolkien. <strong>_

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><p><em><strong>Okay, I got a review regarding swearing. I'm sorry, this chapter is a clear example that I'm not going to stop using it. It is in Lobelia's character, and it would be pointless if I bleeped it out because you would all know what I meant anyways, and you'd think it. It would be the same if I used different words like frack or fricking. I am sorry if it bothers you, but I'm not going to rewrite a whole new character because she swears a couple of times. <strong>_

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><p><strong>Thanks to D.L Sauron- AlmightyLOTRnerd, K9olaquia, LilyMaeve, Elf from Downunder, takulyra444, catgurl, and Emily for reviewing. Thanks to Fred50208, and me 4evaful for favouritingsubscribing. **

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><p><strong>Sorry for the absence and I know I say this every time, but I have been sick (I'm always sick... BLAAAH). Just ask my friends... wait, don't that'd be creeper-ish. I still haven't figured out what's wrong with me, but I'll keep you posted through tumblr when I start going to the doctor's again... not fun, not fun. <strong>


	12. Wow, Anticlimactic

_**~One Game to rule them all,  
><strong>__**One Game to find them,  
><strong>__**One Game to bring them all,  
><strong>__**And may the odds be ever in your favour.~**_

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><p>Never before, in all of the Games that Boromir had witnessed, had there been a mutt that could communicate with the Tributes. There had been mutts that were capable of relaying human sounds, but never sentences strung together by their own thoughts. It was unsettling to see this mutt rocking back and forth and singing its strange song. Boromir noticed a fish with a large chunk taken out of its side in the creature's hands, and he looked up briefly to see the mutt munching on it. Raw. Boromir nearly gagged, but he knew that if the audience saw him do so, they'd pin him as weak.<p>

He was sure that all cameras were on them now; three Tributes encountering the strangest mutt to be thrown into the Games yet. This was probably getting huge media coverage in the Capitol; magazines publishing articles about it, trying to get interviews with the Head Game Maker. Boromir, however, didn't care for this; he cared about the mutt currently in front of him.

He wasn't sure if it had noticed them yet, and he began to slowly back away, Pippin and Merry backing away with him, using his broad body as a shield in case the mutt leapt at them. It did nothing, however, but cough a couple of times more, and look up at them. Its eyes were wavering; not stable, and yet, cunning at the same time. Boromir did not trust it at all. If it were to offer them advice, Boromir wouldn't care whether it meant food better than pine bark; he would deny that mutt any chance to get near him.

"Precious, they don't wants it, does they?" it muttered to itself as they neared the mouth of the cave. The mutt took another bite of its fish, and it stared at them with its enlarged eyes. Boromir flinched away, but at the same time, was curious of what 'it' was.

"What do you speak of?" Boromir inquired, and the mutt smiled, showing a mouth full of rotten teeth, dangling with fish entrails and flesh. Pippin unconsciously gripped onto the sleeve of Boromir's left arm and tugged away. Boromir cast a small glance back down at the thirteen-year-old boy, and gave him a soft, reassuring smile that was sure to make the Capitol audience swoon. Boromir's voice was a mere whisper when he said, "We shall leave soon and it won't come with us. I promise."

Pippin nodded, and looked over to Merry, who also gave Boromir a curt nod. Boromir looked back up at the mutt, waiting for it to answer.

"They don't wants it," the mutt repeated, holding up a small backpack. Boromir narrowed his eyes; was that creature at the Cornucopia at the start of the Games, or did the Game Makers purposefully give the mutt this small bag to protect. Boromir had no idea what was inside that bag, and he did not want to find out. The rain thundered overhead, but it sounded far more appealing than to be inside this cave.

"No, we do not want it," Boromir informed the mutt in a stern voice before he slowly backed out of the cave with Pippin and Merry. As soon as they were ten metres away from the cave opening, they turned, and ran as fast as they could away from the cave in the direction opposite to the lake. Within seconds, they were soaked through in the cold rain, but they continued to run, following the small tributary from the stream leading into the mouth of the cave.

They stopped when they were all panting and out of breath, doubled over, with their hands on their knees as they tried to not breathe in the rain and instead the air. Merry kept on looking over his shoulder, watching as their footprints that were in the mud were pounded out of existence by the rain. The small creek began to overflow as they stood there, soaking their shoes through and causing their shoes to host a small puddle.

Merry watched as small fish, about ten centimetres in length, were pushed out of the stream by the flood, and he bent down to pick one up before it drifted past him. He was reminded of the mutt, but his stomach ached so much that he didn't care. His allies said nothing as they, too, began to get the easy pickings of meat, and put them in their bag.

Eventually, Pippin said, "What... was that thing?"

"A mutt," Boromir replied bluntly as he put a decent sized fish into the bag. By then, they had at least a dozen fish flopping around in the bag, and the flooding had begun to push the stream along much faster, causing what once used to be easy to become difficult. Rain dripped down Boromir's nose and hair as he closed the bag and threw it onto his back.

"But... it _**talked**_," Pippin insisted. Boromir just shook his head as he began to slosh through the water ahead. "Have you ever seen a talking mutt before?"

"No, I have not, even in the Games that I would remember and not you," Boromir told him softly. Pippin could tell that Boromir was bothered by the talking mutt, and decided to not mention it again. Frankly, he was bothered too. He had never expected to be confronted by anything mildly intelligent apart from Tributes.

"Let's find some place to get out this rain," Merry broke the silence eventually, and Pippin noticed that Boromir smiled at him. The boy from District Twelve was about to respond when his answer was drowned out by a large boom.

"FREYA!" Gimli screamed as he noticed the arrow shoot towards her. A clamp of thunder as loud as a cannon drowned him out, but the girl flung herself against a tree as the arrow embedded itself in the small sapling beside her. Gimli saw a flash of silver, and noticed that Freya had a small dagger in her hand. He gripped his axe tighter, but had more of the flight than the fight instinct at that moment. He could tell from the fact that Freya was shaking against her tree that she had the same thoughts.

"Gimli..." She whispered, and he looked at her. She jerked her head to a direction and mouthed 'they're coming around.' Gimli looked out into the woods and noticed the girl from Four slinking around, trying to get them from behind. Gimli nodded, before he then pointed to a direction that he was sure the boy from One was positioning his arrows. They were trying to smoke them out, but this boy did not realize how fast they were. Gimli was useless at cross country; always coming in last in distance races at school, but he was incredibly talented at running short distances. It didn't matter how good the boy was; both Gimli and Freya could flash through the woods like a bird through the trees.

He knew that Freya was still recovering from her injury, but if they didn't run, it wouldn't matter if they had wounds. They'd be goners, and Gimli would rather not be. Freya had the same feelings, or at least he hoped that she did when he mouthed, 'run' before he took off. Freya was there in a flash beside him, and he heard an arrow split a yet another small sapling behind them. The whoosh of a spear being thrown through the air alarmed both Gimli and Freya, and they separated; the spear ricocheting off a rock and flying backwards.

The next thing he heard was swearing from the girl, and a frustrated yell from the boy. He didn't care that they needed anger management classes; he needed to get his ass out of there. Freya looked up at him as they ran down the mountain towards the former grassland area, and she smiled at him. Gimli smiled back at her, before they both started to chuckle.

They only laughed for a few seconds before they then preoccupied their breathing in working oxygen to their muscles. They did not care about the fact that they were thundering through the woods as rain began to steadily pour down on their heads. The rain drowned out the sound of their purser's foot falls, but after running for a decent half hour, Gimli and Freya decided to take a break.

Huffing and coughing, Gimli and Freya looked up at each other with huge grins on their face.

"He's probably pissed beyond extreme," Gimli said softly as he looked back at where the boy from One and the girl from Four were. "You don't suppose that the girl from Two died? She wasn't with them."

"It's a possibility, but it could be anybody in these Games, Gimli," Freya said darkly, as she, too, looked back into the forest. She then smiled, and tried to lighten the mood, "It could even be you, Gimli."

"Oh, really?" Gimli smiled at the small girl with a smile he had rarely shown anybody. "I'm surely a walking dead man, aren't I?"

Freya furrowed her brows. She wasn't sure if he was referring to her joke, or his comment the previous night. Gimli seemed to be clever enough to realize that his comment was truly a dangerous one, but he seemed to be clever enough to conceal that through ignorance. Having a Tribute with a loud mouth and bold thoughts was one thing; having a Tribute who knew that they had bold, dangerous thoughts was another. If Gimli kept up his ignorance; the Game Makers may let it slide that he had called the Hunger Games a murder.

Freya put on a false smile, and lied through her lips. "Indeed. Now, we really need to get out of this rain..." she thought for a moment, before a wicked smile appeared on her face. "The Cornucopia _**has **_been emptied for us. It certainly does have a nice roof."

"I'm pretty sure there is some barbequed food in it, too," Gimli agreed with the same wicked smile. Freya wondered if this, too, was dangerous; treating the Hunger Games like they were, well, a game. She then realized that wondering things like this was far more dangerous than actually doing them. She would try to close a blind eye to things like this if she could; she really would. She had a feeling that this environment would be where she would be living in for the rest of her days. Gimli would be the only company she would have for the rest of her days. Living in doubt would be foolish.

She was in the Hunger Games, she was twelve years old, and she would die in the Hunger Games but Freya Advent put on a genuine smile at Gimli's comment, before the two of them began to make their way out of the forest and into the sea of charcoal.

The ground, luckily, had stopped smoldering in the rain, and now was more of a mushy black puddle that stretched over the land like some blob monster. Freya had been right, though, the charcoal and ash under the Cornucopia was generally dry, and it was blocked from the rain. Both Freya and Gimli shivered as they huddled together under the Cornucopia, digging through the mounds and mounds of blackened food in an attempt to see if there was anything worth saving.

Gimli had found a knife, and Freya had found a flame blackened metal container with some medicine and a couple strips of jerky in it. Gimli had used the bandages in the kit to properly cover Freya's wound, and gave her something that claimed it would help fight infection. They both scarfed down the jerky without a second's thought, before they went back to searching for food. The deeper into the Cornucopia they went, the less burnt were the items; they found heat shrivelled apples and found that they still tasted semi-decent, but a little smoky. They found a burned bag with a couple of knives, medicine, and food in it.

"Freya, you were certainly right about coming here. It was definitely worth it," Gimli told her with a smile, "You are very clever."

Freya flushed a brilliant red, though Gimli knew that he had complimented something that she knew she was good at. Gimli's smile grew as he then leaned against the metal frame of the Cornucopia. The rain had caused the metal to cool down, and now Gimli felt himself shivering. Freya pulled the blanket out of their pack, and then nestled up closer to Gimli, spreading it on both of their laps.

She leaned her head against his chest, all of her weariness coming at her in full force. Before she knew it, Freya had fallen asleep on Gimli's chest. Gimli did not mind one bit; she was still recovering from her wounds and she needed the sleep.

Gimli found himself strangely comforted for the first time since the Games had started.

Legolas was tempted to pull out his hair at this moment. They. Had. Gotten. Away. He kicked the sapling that had been split by Lobelia's spear in half as he took in deep breaths in an effort to calm himself down. He found that they were not working. He was glad now that he had killed Sparkle, because otherwise, he wouldn't have had a kill since the Bloodbath. He closed his eyes for a second as he listened to Lobelia swear over and over again.

"Fuck them. Dammit those pricks... UGH!" Lobelia had picked up her spear and threw it into a sapling nearby. She was very angry too, but she did not care about calming herself down. Legolas found that his rage was subdued by Lobelia's, and then walked over and put his hand on her shoulder. Lobelia whirled around, "What the _**hell **_do you want! ?"

"Calm down, Lobelia," Legolas told her.

"Says the one who rage-kicked the tree over," Lobelia shot back as she pulled out her spear and began to examine the tip for damage. "But seriously, elf-boy, they keep on getting away. I swear, I'm going to dismember that smug little brat from Five and then hang her up to dry."

"Agreed," Legolas grumbled as he then yanked out a miss-shot around from a tree. He inspected it for a couple of seconds and then put it back in his sheath. These Capitol arrows were far better than the ones at home; they withstood everything. He was sure that if he tried to shoot a rock, the tip of the arrow wouldn't even be chipped. All Legolas could think of, however, was having one of his arrows imbedded in that little girl's head. He was sure that her blood would match her hair.

"Where do you think they went?" Lobelia asked, her hair dripping in her face. Legolas looked at her for a couple of seconds. Lobelia began to mutter to herself, "If I was a nasty prick from Five, where would I hang out?"

"Let's find shelter, and then we'll find them. I'd rather not get killed by hypothermia," Legolas said. He was soaked to the bone, and the rain wasn't exactly a nice, warm rain either. It was cold and heavy and relentless, with the full intent on shivering them to death. He was a Greenleaf, however, and he was not one to succumb to a natural force. He wasn't one to die, either, but if he were to die (which he would rather not), it would be by steel or hands; not something petty like a cold.

Lobelia only nodded in consent as she then rested her spear on her shoulders. "And where exactly is that shelter going to be, elf-boy?"

They found the pine tree after about half an hour in the cold rain. It had not stopped since it had fallen, and it had only gotten harder. Dirty was pounded out of the ground and was carried away by the small streams that had begun to form over the thin grass of the mountain. Under their tree, however, was relatively dry. It was tall and had kept most of its lower branches; creating a natural tent that blocked most of the rain from falling on them and kept in some of their heat.

However, by the time that they reached the tree, they were already soaked to the bone, prune-y and shivering. Legolas looked over to Lobelia and saw that she was trying to warm her hands with her breath through her cold-blue lips. Beside her lay a spear with some sort of pheasant stuck on it. The bird's blood slowly dripped to the ground. Moments ago, it had taken refuge under the same tree. Now, it was dead. It seemed like the Tributes weren't the only victims of the Games.

Though the wood was wet, Legolas decided that it would be better for them to have a fire. It would provide warmth, and a way to fill their stomachs. He could already see ants trying to clamber into the dead bird, and watched as Lobelia flicked them away with distaste evident in her face.

It took him a long while to get the fire started, but when he did, he made sure that it would not go out. He took off his shirt and hung it in the branches to dry. He cringed when Lobelia did the same, leaving her dressed in only her undershirt. She raised her eyebrows at him, and then said, "There's no way I'm wearing a soaking wet shirt and freezing my ass off."

Legolas had to agree, but did not say anything. Lobelia plucked the feathers off the pheasant carelessly, and then dumped the guts off at the other side of their tree. Legolas would have preferred that she put it farther away from the camp, but neither he nor Lobelia wanted to go off into the rain again.

As the fat crackled on the pheasant, the anthem was played and the dead girl was shown. The girl from Twelve. It was about time, in Legolas's opinion. He was surprised she lasted this long, and was annoyed that the girl and boy from Five were not up there with her.

Lobelia offered to watch first, and Legolas put on his still damp, and now smoky smelling shirt, and tried to get some sleep. Their night was uneventful; no cannons sounding off to signal another dead Tribute, no wildfire, and no Sparkle rattling in their ear. Lobelia woke Legolas up about halfway through the night, but Legolas still felt well rested as the wind shook the clinging rain from the tree's leaves to the ground.

Lobelia seemed well rested at all, and both of them had a burning passion in their eyes. On the sixth day of their Hunger Games, both of them knew that one of the Tributes from Five would die. They ate the rest of the pheasant before they continued their search through the mountains to find them.

It was far too quite in Estella's opinion. Now that the rain was not thundering overhead, there was nothing but the shiver of the leaves in her ears. Even Diamond was silent as she slept, which was a first. She was probably tired from slipping and falling in the mud. Even where Estella sat, she could see the trail that Diamond had wrecked through the woods. Their trail. It was practically a flare to any Tribute.

Estella was starting to think that it was time to kill Diamond, but she then figured it was far too early in the Games for that. There were still three Career Tributes left, and Meriadoc had not died yet. She needed Diamond to help her survive until they were gone. Diamond had the best knowledge on the boy from Six as well, though she was useless in any other way.

She woke Diamond, and they began their walk. There was really no point in moving, but Estella knew that it was either move or die in the Hunger Games. She would be a fool to think it was not so. But then again, she was a fool to have Diamond in her company. Unfortunately, the girl was not as bright as her name-stake.

It all seemed pointless in Estella's opinion when she heard the crack of a stick under somebody's foot. At first, she turned to Diamond with eyes that could have thrown flaming chainsaws at the girl, and then to Diamond's feet. There were no sticks near them. She checked her own, just in case she had slipped up, but, as she expected, there was nothing. They were not alone. Estella readied a knife, hoping that it would be Meriadoc or some other foolish person.

After a small survey of the area, all they saw was a large deer; too big to take down. It would have been too much for them anyways. Estella pocketed her knife in disappointment. Her hopes had been raised a little bit, but they were quick to fall. She tried not to get upset about it, and she swallowed Diamond's relieved face grudgingly.

"It's better, Estella. What if it had been the Careers?" Diamond put out, looking at Estella's expression.

_**If it were them, they'd be dead, **_Estella thought, but she gave Diamond a false smile. "You're right. It's better. I wish it was something smaller, though, I'm rather hungry."

That was a huge understatement, but Estella wasn't going to let the audience know that hungry was clawing at her stomach mercilessly. She was tough, and she was strong. She could not be weak. It was a television show anyways; it didn't matter what was true or not. She felt like crying, but not in a way that most would think she would be crying for. She was not terrified or worried or dreading death, she was annoyed and frustrated and ready to murder somebody. She kept a straight face, however, as she then left Diamond behind at a rock overhang to get some food.

She managed to knife a rabbit, and had returned to the camp to see that Diamond was looking off in the distance at somebody else. It was a boy, with blond hair that she recalled was from District Eleven. He was rather strange for a boy from Eleven; most of them dark like the girl had been, but he was a kill nonetheless. Estella threw her knife as soon as she thought that she had a decent shot. The boy, however, was much faster than he looked; he was incredibly fast for a boy carrying two backpacks, and he ducked her knife.

Estella had remembered him to be a boy who would throw knives accurately in the Training Centre, but instead of fighting, the boy bounded off into the woods. Estella retrieved her knife, but was far too lazy to do anything else. He would be far gone, and she was tired and hungry. Surely that boy had food in his packs.

"Damn him," Estella muttered as she walked back to Diamond. The ground was wet, and the air was cool, but Diamond managed to get a fire started. Another decent thing about that girl apart from her wires was the fact that she could start a fire from absolutely nothing. The smoke billowed high, but it was concealed with the low-hanging clouds of the mountain; or at least Estella hoped. Estella cooked the rabbit while Diamond went around to set up traps. It was obvious that they would spend the fast-coming night under this ledge, and Estella knew that the traps would probably be a good hope for a decent meal.

They ate, and rested, and waited for any cannon that may have sounded in the next couple of hours.

Samwise Gamgee was never one for confrontation. He knew that it would have been better if he had fought those girls back then. It might have gotten closer to home, and perhaps even gotten sent home in a nice cedar box. But he would never know now. He was far away from them. It was obvious that the girl had not chased after him, and he was glad for that. As much as he wanted to go home, he didn't want to kill anybody more. He was not fit for these Games, but Sam knew that from the very second his name was reaped.

He found an easy place to rest. A tall tree by the stream with strong branches fit enough to hold him and his belongings. It was strange; though he'd only have these items for a total of six days, they seemed more apart of him than anything he had back at home. They were his life source, he figured, as he ate a little of his dried food. He knew he should be getting different food and saving this stuff for later, but Sam was tired from running and did not have the effort.

He wondered what it would be like to have an ally in these Games. Frodo had died much too early for Sam to know the company of somebody in a Game where only one could come out alive. He wondered if it would comfort him, or if it would drive him to a paranoid state where every move made by his ally was questionable by treason. He missed the company of people, but the small security that people would have to find him to kill him was something he would rather not miss at all.

The sky darkened much more quickly than it had the other nights, and it was much cooler. Sam supposed that the Game Makers had had enough of the fires and heat, and were now trying to freeze them to death. The rain from yesterday was proof of that. His blanket kept him warm as the anthem blared through the sky. Sam tried to remember if he had heard any cannons, but his memory was void of the loud booming across the land.

The sky proved that; not a single face was shown as the anthem died and Sam was left to the silence of the night. It dawned upon Sam that this had been the only day in the Games so far where nobody had died. He hoped that _**something **_more interesting than him dashing away from the girls from Ten and Six had happened. It not, then they would be in trouble. He wondered how many more tricks the Game Makers had up their sleeves; first the night of the mutts running down the mountains to the grassland, then the fire, now the rain. What else could they throw their way?

Sam supposed that they could let that spider that killed Frodo roam lose, when a loud shriek resounded throughout the air. Sam had heard these before, but none so close to him as they were now. He was startled when a low swoop brushed the tip of his tree, and shook it. He looked up through the tall branches to see a bird-like thing flying through the air with a black-clothed riding on top of it. His heart pounded loudly in his ears and he hoped that it would not be heard by the large mutt.

He was fortunate enough to have the mutt fly over him and he watched it move across the land. The dark of the mutt sometimes blended into the sky, but Sam would always catch it again as it flew in front of the moon. He wished that it would just stop, and he prayed, for some strange reason, that nobody would be caught by the mutt.

Sam eventually drifted to sleep and did not wake to the sound of any cannon.

Arwen had noticed it first; her ears seemingly much better than Aragorn's, and she had pressed him against a tree. Aragorn had the sense not to shout out at her, but curiosity caused him to whisper. "What?"

"Something watches us from the sky," Arwen muttered back as she looked up. Just at that moment, a large black figure swooped over them, and then shrieked; turning in the sky and flying back down the mountain. Arwen let her breath out at that, and then began to scramble up the tree. Aragorn sighed and followed her. With that mutt guarding the skies, there was no way that they would be able to get any farther tonight without becoming victim to them.

It annoyed Aragorn greatly that their movement was hindered by something that they could not control. A Tribute could be easily slain, but a mutt on something that resembled a dragon was probably the most inconvenient, unchangeable thing that had ever graced Aragorn with its presence. From his perch on his tree, he could see the mutt swoop down around the sky.

Aragorn was about to drift to sleep when he saw two of them. He rubbed his eyes sleepily; wondering if that was, perhaps, the reason why he had seen it was because of his own drowsiness. He had not been hallucinating, however, and instead, he saw that there were not only two, but _**nine **_mutts in the sky. He then began to wonder how much money had gone into these Games.

It would have irked somebody from a lesser District that the Capitol was spending more money on the Hunger Games than to solve their hunger, but Aragorn was from District Two and had never once missed a meal in his life. He was feeling hunger now; his supply of apples dwindling down now that Arwen decided to be his ally. He was tempted to kill her sometimes just because of that, but he realized that it would be incredibly irrational and illogical to do so. But part of him would always remind him that only one person could make it out of these Games alive.

It would be so easy now; she had fallen asleep despite the screams of the mutts. All he would have to do was give her a shove, and she'd topple to the ground. If she would not be killed by it, she would definitely be rendered useless; broken legs and spine, no doubt, but Aragorn made no move. If he killed her now, the mutts would swoop down upon him like flies to a corpse and he'd be dead.

Arwen woke up when a mutt flew particularly close to their tree and gave a loud cry. She almost jolted out of the tree, if not for her arm wrapped around the trunk, she would have certainly fallen. Aragorn looked at her with wiry smile. "They're worse than my alarm clock at home," he muttered to her.

Arwen grinned and then said, "At least you could shut off the alarm clock. Do these things have no common curtsey?"

"It's the Hunger Games, manners are naught but forgotten," Aragorn shrugged, and Arwen gave a small snort. They both looked over their shoulders to see if the mutts had noticed their talking. The mutts continued on their search of the sky, and Aragorn continued voicing his thoughts. "How much do you think those things cost to make?"

"A million," Arwen replied.

"I'm thinking at least a hundred million; did you see the talons on that thing?" Aragorn retorted, and they then shot back their ideas back and forth until the sun peaked over the mountains. With a final hiss, the mutts flew back over a mountain and did not come back. "So... they're gone now... I bet they're going to be here for the rest of the Games."

"Just kill me now," Arwen moaned sarcastically as she began to slide down the tree, "If I'm going to have to deal with those things all night, I'm going to go bonkers."

"I could do you the favour," Aragorn told her with a joking smirk.

"In your dreams," Arwen said as she reached the ground. Aragorn jumped from a branch, and landed with a thud on the ground. The bag of apples came down almost on top of Arwen, and she yanked them from his hands.

"You're going to kill somebody," Arwen told him without a second thought.

"I had hoped," Aragorn replied coyly and Arwen then punched him in the shoulder.

"Grow up, Aragorn," she said before she grabbed an apple and chucked it at his head. "Breakfast."

"I love you too, Arwen," Aragorn deadpanned as he caught the apple before it hit his face. She gave him a cheeky grin before she slumped the bag of apples over her shoulder and marched off. If Aragorn was to forget that he was in the Games, it would have been when he was talking with Arwen. She always reminded him of home and school. She made him feel like he didn't have to be so guarded, and, though he would sometimes rather kill him, she made him feel relaxed.

Aragorn sighed before he trudged off with her.

* * *

><p><strong>As requested by ZeDancingHobbit; a list of the Fallen:<br>**_All tributes from districts I was far too lazy to write about. (3, 7, 8, 9)  
><em>_**Frodo Baggins**, District Four, Shelob the Mutt  
><em>_**Rosie Cotton**, District Eleven; Wargs (Mutts)  
><em>_**Sparkle Sprinkle**,(oh my Valar, what was I thinking when I named her... I guess I wasn't) District One; Legolas/Burned to death  
><em>_**Ioreth Stellar**, District Twelve; Infection from Warg cuts and Burns_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Thanks to K9olaquia, ZeDancingHobbit, LilyMaeve, Elf from Downunder, Guest(s), Riverstorm16, richards25, Foxface 2001, Estoma, and Eoril for reviewing! Thanks to Estoma, and Eoril for either subscribingfavouriting! Thank you for waiting for this chapter (I've been busy being sick and at school). Thank you for reading, and please review!**  
><em>


	13. Falling For You

~**_One Game to rule them all,  
>One Game to bind them,<br>One Game to bring them all,  
>And may the odds be ever in your favour~<span>_**

* * *

><p>Estella gritted her teeth in frustration as she held onto the root with all of her strength. Of course Diamond would lead her into this predicament. They were both dangling, twenty metres down, off the side of a crack in the mountain; the bottom far down, though the sunlight of the noon showed a glimpse of the rocks down below. All of them seemed ready to impale them and be stained with their blood. Estella reminded herself that if she got out of here alive, she would kill Diamond brutally<p>

She began to haul herself up, her feet digging into the side of the cliff, sending loose rocks tumbling down below. Their clatter and crack on the rocks underneath her made her determined to get out. Occasionally, a rock she had accidentally dislodged would hit Diamond in the face, and Estella would have an internal laugh. She hoped that one would break her nose, or perhaps make her fall.

Estella reached a ledge that was strong enough to support her weight, and she took a break on it. Her face was dripping with sweat as she looked down at Diamond. She was still two metres away from the ledge, and she looked like she was struggling. Estella thought for a moment. She could just let Diamond fall and then she wouldn't have to deal with her stupidity anymore. It was her fault that they had fallen down the abyss. The stupid girl had grabbed onto Estella's shoulder when she slipped and fell into the ditch. Estella had been lucky enough to grab onto a dangling tree root. Unfortunately, so had Diamond.

Estella sighed, and then grabbed the root. Grunting, she began to pull Diamond up to the ledge. Diamond was huffing, and nearly collapsed on the ledge once Estella had brought her there. Estella narrowed her eyes at the girl. **_I don't see why she is so tired; I was the one who did all of the work._**

"Thanks..." Diamond managed, and Estella just nodded at her. Estella was tired from lifting Diamond, even though the Tribute from Six weighed next to nothing.

Looking up, Estella realized that there was only a five-metre climb for her to get to the top, and she grabbed onto the root again. She found it easier this time, and got back up to where they had set up camp for a break. She was heaving and incredibly tired; easy prey for any other Tribute that may have stumbled across her, but she felt victorious. She had gotten out of that bloody crack. There was no way that nature was going to do her in.

She lay back on the soft moss, and took in a deep breath. The air smelt moist from the rain, and fresh from the cold. It was comforting, as Estella began to relax from the tension of nearly dying. She heard a small shout, and saw that Diamond was still stuck below. She looked down the crack to see the girl dangling from the root. Estella gave an annoyed sigh before she began to pull Diamond up again.

Diamond practically threw herself on the safe ground once Estella brought her up, and muttered her thanks over and over again. Estella didn't say anything as she went to her bag and took out a water skin. She took a swing from it before she held it out to Diamond. Diamond got shakily up to her feet and took a sip of water.

The girl from Six looked down over the edge of the crack again, and took another sip of water. Estella looked at her, pondering for a moment, before she took the water skin back from Diamond roughly. Diamond looked at her with shock on her face as Estella took another swing. The girl from Ten then dropped the skin onto the ground. The lid popped off, and their precious water began to spill out onto the moss.

"What's wrong, Estella?" Diamond asked, and Estella gave her a small, malicious smile.

Within the next second, Estella had grasped Diamond by the hair, and yanked her over to the crack. The girl from Six teetered on the edge for a couple of seconds, her arms flailing as she tried to keep herself from falling. Estella gave her no time to regain her balance, and instead, let go of Diamond's hair and gave her a shove with her other hand.

"Bye," Estella said casually as Diamond began to fall backwards. The girl's eyes were wide as saucers, and her face was struck with betrayal as she fell down into the abyss. "This is the Hunger Games, Diamond, not school. I don't have to play fair," Estella commented over Diamond's last scream.

Sam heard the scream before he heard the cannon. A girl's, echoing off the rocks, piercing and terrible. Sam was reminded of when Frodo was killed. He remembered the two girls from the day before. It had to have been one of them, not any of the other girls left.

He tried to remember who was still alive. The girls from Two and Four were still alive, though their counterpart Career from One had been killed the day of the fire. Rosie had died the same day as the girl from One. The girls from Five, Ten and Six were left as well. The girl from Twelve pierced his mind; her body charred and broken, her whimpering for death. Now, there were only four girls left.

It had to be either the girl from Six, or the girl from Ten. Those were the girls that had tried to chase him yesterday. He thought about the girls. The one from Ten had been viscous, almost like a Career. Sam's bet was that the girl from Six got knifed in the back. He only hoped that it was not literal. He hoped that her death was relatively painless, but he reminded himself that this was the Hunger Games, and painless deaths were like a diamond in the rough.

He made his way down the mountain for the rest of the day, filling up his water and snacking on any berries he remembered were edible. Since he hadn't died yet, he filled up his pockets with some and went off. He reached the lake before he realized where he was going. Deciding that it was better to maintain the path he was on, Sam decided to go around the lake and to the mountain on the other side.

He studied the burned grasslands. They were reduced to a sloppy puddle of small ash and charcoal. He was sure to avoid stepping in it. The ash and charcoal would certainly track, and any smart animal or Tribute would be able to follow them. Sam knew that he was going to die, but if he was, he did not want to be an easy kill.

He took a break once he had reached the other mountain. This one seemed to be much better than the first mountain he and Frodo had journeyed on, and just as unoccupied. Perhaps he would be able to have a couple days to himself where he didn't have to be worried about death from Tributes. He highly doubted that those Black Riders would stop flying at night, but he would be safe from Tributes and that was a relief.

He took another handful of berries when he saw a river to have a drink. He had his fill, and then filled his medicine containers with water before he decided to follow the river. It was a relatively clean source of water, and it seemed to be surrounded by trees he could hide for the nights. He felt content, and for the first time since starting the Games, relatively safe.

Sam followed the river until he found that it lead to a small cave. He wondered if it was inhabited, and he took his string of knives. It would be a good place to spend the night if there was nothing in it. The mutts never went this close to the ground, and it seemed to run pretty deep. The river still seemed to flow through the cave, which was something that Sam found rather peculiar. Perhaps the water source was inside.

Sam stiffened when he heard a small croaking sound from inside the cave. In the centre, there was a human-esque creature. It moaned and gurgled things illegible until it looked up, its eyes reflecting the little light that entered the cave. It didn't seem to notice Sam at first, muttering and coughing to itself.

_"Gollum, Gollum," _It hacked, spraying spit on the rocks below. Clutched in its hands, like it was the most precious thing in the world, was a small bag. Sam took a step forwards, accidentally brushing a small rock with his foot. The rock clattered against the cave floor, as the mutt jerked its head Sam's general direction.

"Um…" Sam stuttered, his knife in hand, not sure on whether to throw it at the creature or not.

"You wants it?" The mutt demanded, and it coughed its strange cough again. "_Gollum, Gollum."_

"Want what?" Sam asked, though really he wanted nothing to do with the creature.

"The precious," It croaked, cuddling the bag to its chest, "There was peoples before you… yes… they did not wants it…"

"Who?"

"Mustn't ask too many questions," the creature shot back. "They plays the same game as you… We love games…"

"Games?" Sam knew that he was referring to other Tributes. His guess of this area being unoccupied had been wrong then.

"_What has roots that no one sees?  
>Taller than the trees.<br>Up up up it goes,  
>But never grows?" <em>The creature demanded suddenly.

"A mountain," Sam replied without thinking. The creature gave an irate shriek before it threw the bag at Sam.

"Takes it! Thieves!" The mutt spat as it began to rock back and forth. "He tooks it from us, precious!"

Sam looked at the mutt for a second, before he bent down and picked up the bag. It was light, almost weighting nothing. For a couple of seconds, Sam wondered what possibly was in it. He shook his head to himself slightly, before he held the bag out for the creature, "Here, you have it. I don't want it."

The creature did not seem to hear over its wails, as it thrashed against the ground. Moaning and cursing, the creature then shouted, "Leave now and never come back!"

Sam staggered backwards from the creature. The boy from Eleven tried once more to give the creature the bag back, but it hissed at him. Sam turned tail and ran, not once thinking that he could have just left the bag on the cave floor. He ran as fast as he could away from the cave, not caring for the trail that he had left behind him.

He stopped, taking in deep breaths, once he reached the edge of lake. Sweaty and tired, Sam decided to take a break, as he took out a piece of lembas (grudgingly) and smeared some of his berries over it. After he had finished his lunch, he took in large gulps of water, trying to stop his shaking. It took him a while to finally stop, and after that, he turned to the bag he had won from the strange mutt.

Sam flipped open the bag, and looked inside. There was a cloak; grey in colour, inside. Sam furrowed his brows as he looked at it. What was so special about this cloak that the Game Makers would set the first talking mutt to ever exist in the Games to guard it? He took out the cloak, and found it soft and light. The weight was hardly noticeable.

As Sam ran it through his hand, the cloak colour immediately meshed with his hand. It then spread to turn his arm completely invisible. Sam gave a surprised cry as he looked at the space were his arm should have been. He could still feel it clutching the cloak, and he knew that the cloak was one for invisibility.

This gift was priceless compared to anything that sponsors could have gotten him. He fastened the straps of the cloak around his neck, and then set off. It was strange not seeing his hands or feet as he moved, but Sam knew that out of all of the Tributes in the Games, he was the safest.

How wrong he was.

The cannon shook Gimli and Freya awake. It had already been past noon, and they had allowed themselves to sleep in because of the security that hiding inside the Cornucopia provided. They ate some of the charred food, before they readied themselves to leave. Though the Cornucopia had been a safe place for them to spend the night originally, it was only a stunt that they would be able to pull off once.

Gimli peered out of the tip of the Cornucopia to see if there were any Tributes lurking around in the forest surrounding the ash field. He saw no sign of another human being, though he was bothered by the fact that he could not see behind the entrance of the Cornucopia. He could only hope that there was nobody there as he went back into the Cornucopia and told Freya that the cost was clear.

They were tentative at first, looking out over the shiny gold metal of the Cornucopia to see if there was anybody there, but as soon as they saw that there was nobody there, they ran as fast as they could in the opposite direction of where they remembered the Careers were. Gimli assumed that whoever had died in the morning had been a victim of that pretty-boy from One or that violent girl from Four.

He was glad that they had escaped, because out of everybody in these Games, Gimli was sure Mr. I'm So Sexy and his sidekick Ms. I Need Mental Help would give him the most painful death. He looked over to Freya, who was walking absentmindedly beside him, her eyes trained on the ground below her to avoid stepping on twigs. He did not want to know what they would do to her.

Freya looked up at him; her light brown eyes meeting his for a brief moment before she looked back down at her feet. Her hand was tight on the small knife, her other wavering over one of the knives they had retrieved from the burned bag. Though she seemed to be completely zoned out, Freya was ready for anything that was to come. He noticed how she stood on her toes, and looked like she was going to burst out running at the slightest noise. Her eyes were scanning the area, calculating, as if she was figuring out which direction would be best for her to scamper off in if it were needed.

Their night of relaxation had clearly been a one-night thing for them. Gimli, too, felt the stress come back at full force. His brows seemed to be constantly furrowed, his mouth a constant frown, and his thoughts paranoid and panicked. No wonder those who came out of the Hunger Games were crazy. He was already starting to feel it, but he did not want to live his last few days as a mad man. If he went insane in the Games, the Game Makers would certainly pick a morbid way to kill him off through mutts or a natural disaster.

He sighed to himself as he looked around at the woodland. It seemed so strange that a bunch of children were being murdered in such a quite wood. He still couldn't grasp the fact that all of those people that had been shipped off to the Capitol were actually dead. It just seemed as though they were sent back home, heart and healthy. But they were dead. It was different from watching it, where he could see clearly that the Tributes had died. Here, it just seemed like they walked off the face of the earth.

But Gimli knew that they were dead. Once the cannon sounded, once the anthem blared in the sky, and once the faces were shown Gimli seemed to realize that they were gone. It took all three of them for it to set in Gimli's head.

Freya seemed to have a better grasp of the reality at hand than Gimli, because when they stopped to get a drink of water, she seemed to be always looking over her shoulder for somebody else. Gimli, however, did not seem to care that a river was an attraction to both deadly mutts and Tributes, because he just wanted to sit there and watch as leaves and bits of grass were carried down the current.

"We should go, Gimli," Freya finally broke the silence, and he looked down at the little girl. She had her knife out as if she had heard something in the bush.

"Calm down, Freya," Gimli replied, but he got up from his spot nonetheless. "You are too worried."

"There is no such thing as too much worry, Gimli, especially in the Hunger Games," Freya was quick to retort, but she sheathed her knife in her belt nonetheless. She sighed as she looked around the area, "There is always something out there, Gimli. It's just a matter of how close it is to us."

"Well, nothing's near us now, Freya, so for the time being, I think we're safe. Unless, of course, a strange occurrence of cloudless lightning were to strike one of us down," Gimli said with a small smile on his face.

**_There he is again, _**Freya thought as she looked at the boy from her District, **_challenging the Game Makers or something. He must want to die._**

"There are those flying mutts," Freya pointed out.

"Ah, but it is not night," Gimli grinned at her as he then began to trudge off into the woods. Freya just shook her head, but followed suit, running to catch up with him.

"Gimli," she said after they walked for an hour. The older boy looked down at his companion as if to ask why she was addressing him. "What's your favourite thing?"

"Making stuff," Gimli said bluntly, and Freya furrowed her brows. Gimli raised his in response, before he looked down at her and explained, "I like making toys or jewelry with pieces of junk I find on the streets. What is your favourite thing, Freya?"

"I like to draw," she admitted with a shrug, "But we can't afford paper, so I would draw on the walls of our house with the charcoal from our fire."

"With coal charcoal?" Gimli asked, and Freya just smiled.

"No. I'd find sticks along the edge of the fence and burn those on purpose so I could draw. It was the only thing I could do to keep my mind occupied on anything but…" she broke off and looked down at her feet. Gimli didn't need her to continue, though, for he knew exactly what she was thinking about. **_Anything but my empty stomach_**

"Just think, Freya, when you win, you'll be able to draw with actual art supplies," Gimli told her and she rolled her eyes at him.

"Maybe."

That maybe was the only thing that Gimli needed to keep on protecting the girl from his District.

Arwen whirled around at the cannon, her heart pounding in her chest. She knew that it was a bad idea for them to separate and gather edible plants. They were now lying on the ground at her feet, forgotten and lacking all the importance they had before. She should have stayed with him. She readied the knife that Aragorn had given her before she began to charge back in the direction she had last seen Aragorn. If he was dead, she was going to kill who or whatever had killed him.

As soon as she reached the place that she and Aragorn had destined as their meeting place, somebody came charging out of the bushes opposite from her. Arwen raised her knife, and was ready to throw when she recognized the Tribute as Aragorn. She lowered her knife as he lowered his, and then breathed a heavy sigh. Aragorn gave her a coy smile before he raised his eyebrows.

"I have to go get my food. I accidentally left it there," he told her before he turned tail and began to walk back into the woods. She furrowed her brows at him. Was he actually concerned about her well-being? She sooner thought that Aragorn would dance over her corpse if she died. She assumed it would be Aragorn to bring to her to her demise, but she stayed with him nonetheless. She wanted to insure that he would win.

She had volunteered because she knew that Aragorn was going to. Any other girl in her District would have killed him in his sleep by now. But Arwen couldn't. He was a close friend, and she needed to protect him, even if it meant that she would die. She would do whatever she could to help him, especially now that she wasn't roped into the Career Alliance any longer.

She turned on her heel and back into the forest where she had left her plants. She found them scattered on the ground, most of them ruined by the large, obvious footprint that had pounded them into the rain-softened ground. She salvaged the few that she could, and hid the rest in a hole that must had been dug by a chipmunk or other ground dwelling rodent. She could not afford to let anybody else see that they had been there.

Arwen looked at the area she had been in. She could hardly tell that she had been there, and she gave a content smile before walking back to their meeting spot.

Aragorn was waiting for her, leaning against the tree with the bag of apples slung over his shoulder. With his free hand, he was toying with a piece of grass. He looked entirely bored, but Arwen could tell that he had been looking out for her. They still didn't know if the Tribute who had died was close to them or not, and they were both still wary. Apparently Aragorn was concerned about her.

"Took you long enough. I'd thought you had gone off and died," Aragorn told her nonchalantly as she bent down and put her plants in their backpack. Arwen gave him a cheeky smile as she strapped the bag on her shoulders.

"The cannon would have sounded if I died," she replied. **_And you'd probably dance with joy._**

"A cannon I dread to hear," Aragorn said as he titled his head to the side in a short nod. Arwen rolled her eyes at his statement. He wanted her to trust him, but if he kept on flinging bullshit at her, it made him seem like he was trying too hard.

Arwen didn't say anything as Aragorn picked a direction to wander off in. They walked in silence until late afternoon, where Aragorn picked a decent tree for them to stay in. They were getting closer to the tree line of the mountain, so this tree was much shorter than the other ones that they had previously stayed in. Aragorn smiled at her and then said, "The shorter it is, the less likely those flying mutts will be able to swoop down and kill us."

"Yet more likely for those giant wolves to kill us," Arwen put in, and then Aragorn scoffed.

"You killed all of those when they attacked you in the meadow. Who thought that it would be a good idea to stay there again?" Aragorn retorted, and Arwen ignored his last statement.

"The Game Makers could just make more," Arwen told him.

"They won't. They're probably going to throw some wicked beast at us sooner or later," Aragorn said before he turned away from her, "Isn't that right?"

Arwen realized that he was addressing the crowd, and then she punched him on the shoulder. Jokingly, she said, "You can't just go and break the forth wall, Aragorn."

"It is meant to be broken," he said with a grin. "Here, set up camp. I'll try to find something decent to eat."

Arwen sighed as he left, before she hauled first the backpack and then the dwindling supply of apples into the tree and strapped them in. She sat in one of the lower branches, munching on an apple, knife in hand, waiting for Aragorn to return.

The fish proved to be difficult to cook. Boromir had accidentally burned the first one, much to Pippin and Merry's dismay.

"How can you burn it if the fire's tiny?" Pippin had demanded. Boromir retorted with asking Pippin if he wanted to cook the fish instead. That shut the boy from Six up faster than anything. They sat, grudgingly eating the charred fish as Boromir tried to cook the next one over their tiny fire.

They had waited all day to eat the fish, snacking on berries and pine bark, and now that dusk was near, they were starving. Though the low light of the sun would hide the flames and the smoke, they did not risk a bigger fire than the one that they had before them. Boromir thought that it was more a candle than a fire, but he still managed to slightly char the next fish. He glared at the fire as he portioned the fish out, and then handed his allies their food and ate his in a second.

They weren't going to eat anymore fish, but Boromir knew that they would not keep raw, so he spent the rest of the time cooking the fish. Pippin and Merry gave him whispered words of encouragement as he did so.

"Go Boromir! Cook up those fish well!"

"And here, chef Boromir slowly burns the fish at six thousand degrees. A dish fit to serve a king."

"Hey, that one only caught fire once!"

"My favourite parts are the burnt parts, how about you?"

"Fish cooking set, ninety-nine dollars. Does not include your own professional Boromir."

"Blow it out, blow it out!"

"Boromir Stewart, the only person who could light a fish on fire."

"Flaming fishes, get your flaming fishes!"

"How to burn your food. Step one; get Boromir to cook it."

"Do not try this at home, kids."

"And Boromir here demonstrates a traditional dish from District Twelve. Fish, with charcoal. Highly nutritious. "

By the end of their commentary, Boromir was silently chuckling and both boys were gasping as Boromir finally finished cooking their food. By then, the sky had started taking on a dark indigo, the red and orange the sun quickly disappearing left. Boromir packed up their food (which was not as bad as what Pippin and Merry suggested they were) as the younger boys of the alliance scampered up their tree.

The black mutts began to shriek across the sky; their cries echoing off of the mountains. Their tree swayed as one flew close to it, causing a shivering wind to grasp its fingers around the three Tributes. They were lucky enough to have found a branch that supported all them, and Pippin and Merry huddled closer to Boromir, who was holding onto them, for warmth.

Boromir smiled softly, as he began to nod off. His sleep, however, was rudely interrupted by the blaring anthem. He hit his head against the tree as he jolted awake. He watched the seal through the branches, and waited to see the face of the fallen Tribute today.

The girl from Six face looked down upon them for a couple of moments before the seal returned, and finally darkness consumed them. Pippin had stiffened against Boromir, before he nestled his head into the Tribute from Twelve's chest, and tried to sleep.

Boromir gripped onto the boy tighter as he leaned his head against the tree again, and finally fell asleep.

Lobelia sat in her tree, watching as the mutts flew across the sky. The girl from Six. That bitch from Ten must have gotten tired of her. She balanced her spear on the back of her hand before she flicked it upwards and grasped onto it. Legolas looked up at her from his branch, highly unimpressed with her action. She looked down at him and flipped him off.

Legolas rolled his eyes before he muttered something about getting some sleep. Lobelia didn't bother bid him a goodnight. She sooner would have him fall from the tree and get eaten by a moose for all she cared. She was starting to get paranoid around him. He killed Sparkle, she knew that much, and if he was so keen on killing his District Partner, he wouldn't batter his pretty eyelashes when killing her

She sat up on her branch on her toes, watching as the mutts flew around. One of them was within a spear throw. She contemplated killing it. If she got rid of it, the other eight would know where she was and she'd probably die. She puffed out her cheeks. It was too far away for her to kill now anyways.

She wondered really what the mutts' purpose was. They hadn't killed anybody, since that girl from Six had died during the day. Perhaps they were supposed to keep them hiding during the night. Lobelia scoffed to herself, and looked down at Legolas. He had fallen to sleep. She gave a sigh, and then swung down the branches to the one where their bags were.

She searched through Legolas's, taking any food, and a couple of his daggers, leaving him with one of the dullest ones. She snapped his arrows in half, but left the bow on its own. She packed up her bag in silence, and she looked at Legolas for a couple of seconds.

"I'd kill you, Leggy, but we were allies," Lobelia told him, "and I'd rather kill you later on in the Games. Plus, the fans need more sex appeal than that oaf from Five."

She jumped from the tree, looking up at the sky to see if there were any mutts, and ran off in the opposite direction. Working with Legolas hadn't been helping her at all, and she couldn't be the Victor if he was going to slay her in her sleep. She could have killed him, but she preferred this.

She had left him practically helpless; he had no food and a shitty knife for a weapon. His arrows would be better fit for firewood than for killing Tributes. Lastly, she left him completely off his guard. He thought that she was watching him as he slept, when in reality, he was alone. Lobelia wished that he would get eaten by a mutt or killed by one of those brats from Five.

She smiled to herself. With the mutts around, people would have thought that they were secure and that no Tribute would dare try to hunt them in the dark. She had the element of surprise on her side, and she was ready to play it at full force.

The shrieks of the mutts hid her low chuckle, as she made her way down to the ash-filled valley.

* * *

><p><strong><span>Author's note; chipmunks do dig tunnels to hide in, though I am not entirely sure that they live in them. I'm also too lazy to look it up. Also, I was thinking of giving Sam the Ring, but since Frodo had one before, I'd thought it be confusing. So this Gollum loves a cloak from Lorien that has the powers of the Ring instead. One cloak to rule them all, and make the Samwise hide from them. (I'm a brilliant poet, aren't I?)<span>**

**Merry Holidays and have a Happy New Year! I'm so glad we all didn't die on the 21st. XD**

**Thanks to ZeDancingHobbit, K9olaquia, RiverStorm16, Elf from Downunder, and You know who, for reviewing!**

* * *

><p><strong><span>Death list:<span>**

**The Blah Tributes that I don't feel like listing and were never important to begin with.**

**Frodo; Shelob**

**Rosie; Warg**

**Sparkle; Fire/Legolas**

**Ioreth; Fire**

**Diamond; Estella/ Falling from cliff. **


	14. Goodbye Strangers

_**~One Game to rule them all,  
><strong>__**One Game to find them,  
><strong>__**One Game to bring them all,  
><strong>__**And may the odds be ever in your favour~**_

* * *

><p>Legolas woke up covered in water. He was uncertain of whether it was rain, his own sweat, or dew, but after checking the ground for anything else, and not recalling any night terrors, he assumed that it was dew. But, what he was covered in was one of the least concerning things on his schedule. He was more concerned with the fact that he was not woken for his watch, and the fact that Lobelia was nowhere to be seen.<p>

He sat up, and realized that his bag was no longer in the tree, but instead, it had fallen out on the ground. He wondered if there was a night storm before he looked down and saw a bunch of sticks snapped in two. He furrowed his brows at them for a couple of seconds, before he looked at them more closely. They all had pointed tips. Legolas jumped down from his tree, and picked one of the sticks up in his hand.

Fury engulfed him as he realized that all of the sticks on the ground were his arrows. He went over to his quiver, which was lying empty beside the tree, and realized that Lobelia had snapped every single one of his arrows. He didn't even care if he was seen as he flung his quiver out into the forest in rage. It bounced off a tree, and then hit the ground with a dull thud.

Blood was pounding heavily in his ears as he looked at the ruined arrows at his feet. She would leave him with a perfectly fine bow, but no arrows to shoot. He checked his bag, and realized that the only thing that she had left him with was his knife. She took all of the food, and ruined every single one of his weapons, except for the knife. She pretty much left him for dead.

But she had made one mistake; she hadn't killed him. And now, Legolas's only goal was not to kill Aragorn, or those brats from Five, but to catch Lobelia and make her pay.

For a brief second, he was about to throw away the wasted arrow points, but an idea struck him. He smiled to himself as he gathered the sharp halves of the arrows, and put them in his nearly emptied bag. He would save these until he needed them. Even if there was no more wood left in this arena, he would save these for what he wanted to use them for, and nothing else.

He was about to throw his bow, when he realized that he could probably make himself some arrows to shoot if things really got bad. He then stole the feathers off of the arrows that had once been useful to him, and searched the ground for any feathers from the pheasant that he had the other day. He only found a couple before he decided that it would be best for him to leave this area.

Legolas then realized that this Game had turned to the worst. Unlike before, he know had to worry about getting himself some food, and he didn't have any arrows to help him with it. He then began to prioritize. He needed to make arrows to get food, so arrows would be first, food and water would have to be second, and killing Lobelia would be third. Any other Tribute that popped up would die too, but Lobelia was the main one he wanted dead.

He found some decent, lightweight sticks, and then climbed a tree as he began to shave them down to be an arrow. Hunger rumbled through his stomach, and he had to remind himself that arrows meant food to prevent him from jumping from the tree and consuming the first bush of berries that he saw.

He tried to remember the only lesson that he was given to make arrows. Emerald had been with him that day. Legolas soon forgot the arrows, and thought of his friend back in District One. What was she thinking of him now? She probably thought that he was doomed, and she was probably embarrassed that she had ever called him a friend. Who would want to be known as the friend of the Tribute who got betrayed as he slept? He could imagine her shaking her head and sighing as she watched him now.

The stick in his hand then snapped in half, and Legolas took in a deep, shuddering breath of annoyance. He tried his next stick, and banished Emerald from his brain. _**There is nothing outside of the Hunger Games, **_he tried to convince himself, _**the Hunger Games is the only thing to exist. **_

He took in a deep sigh, and then looked at his arrow. There was no rock for a tip, but instead, only a sharpened stick that would easily blunt. The arrow shaft was not completely straight; somewhat wobbly and contorted. He knew that it wouldn't fly straight, and it wouldn't go as far as his old arrows would, but it was better than having nothing.

He notched the arrow on his bow as he then jumped from his tree. He was certainly ready for some food now.

The first shot Legolas took missed horribly, and the pheasant flew upwards away from him. Legolas picked up a rock and chucked it at the bird in a vain effort to down it. The stone missed, and Legolas just sighed before he retrieved his arrow. It had been blunted, so Legolas spent a couple of minutes just sharpening the tip again.

His second attempt was no better; the squirrel just watched as the stick fell a metre short, and then scampered away in the tree. "Cocky bastard," Legolas grumbled to himself, as he grabbed his only arrow. Below the tree, he found himself a couple of good sticks, and then put them in his bag.

His third shot took the rabbit in the leg. He had been aiming for the eye, but his shot crippled the rabbit nonetheless, and it lay there, giving off cries of warning to any other rabbit that may have been in close proximity, before Legolas stabbed it through the eye.

He held the rabbit up in his hand, and then gave a gleeful shout. He lit a low fire, and began to cook his rabbit. He was sharpening another arrow stick, and watching his rabbit when a cannon sounded off in the distance.

"Boromir…" Pippin said as the older boy looked down at him. "How do you manage to eat that with a smile on your face?"

Boromir knew that Pippin was talking about the charred fish in his hand. Boromir gave a shrug. "My mother died when I was younger, so I did all of the cooking. I think these turned out rather well." Merry's jaw dropped, and Pippin just shook his head. Boromir then gave a small chuckle and shrugged. "You two have the exact same reaction as my younger brother whenever I serve him something and say that."

"Any sane person would, Boromir," Merry told him as he then scrapped off some of the burnt part of his fish with a pine needle. It was a rather slow and painstaking task, but it was better than choking to death on charcoal. Boromir just watched him with a slightly amused expression on his face, as he just flaked off the skin with the knife the three of them shared between them.

"Are you calling me insane?" Boromir asked as he lifted a piece of fish into his mouth, his eyebrows raised. Merry said nothing, concentrating on the charcoal and the pine needle, while Pippin nodded vigorously.

"Not only are you insane, you're a pyromaniac," Pippin commented through a mouthful of fish, and Boromir gave the boy a light shove. Pippin began to cough as the fish he was chewing on got caught in his throat, before he turned and spewed it all out on Boromir. The older boy wiped his face with his sleeve, giving Pippin what resembled a death glare, as Pippin just shrugged. "It's your fault."

"You did not need to spray me with your chewed up fish," Boromir retorted.

"You could have choked me to death," Pippin shot back, and then Boromir gave him a rather suggestive smile.

"This is the Hunger Games, Peregrin," Boromir told him jokingly, and Pippin then shoved him into the ground. Boromir hit it with a small thud, before Pippin began to tickle him.

Merry looked over at his two allies, before he looked down at his fish. He then rolled his eyes, abandoned his fish, and with a cry of "FOR DISTRICT TEN!" he then launched himself on Boromir and aided Pippin in the tickling Boromir to death.

Their laughter was quiet, but it filled the area until a large cannon shot echoed around the arena. The boys immediately stopped their laughter, and their tickling, before they gathered their things up (Merry grabbing his fish and pine needle) before they cleared the area.

Gimli had a feeling that today would not be a good one for the Tributes of District Five. He and Freya had started off by eating the rest of the food that they had gotten from the remains of the supplies provided at the Cornucopia, and now had to worry about supplying themselves with some food. He was lucky that Freya was rather decent with throwing a knife, otherwise, he'd probably would have starved to death by now.

The girl had already gotten an unsuspecting squirrel that had been hanging around on a low branch of the tree, and she had it dangling off of her belt. Gimli was rather impressed that she was not freaking out by the fact that there was a dead animal continuously bumping into her leg with every step that she took, or the fact that the animal's blood had soaked into her pants. In fact, she seemed almost oblivious to it as she searched the ground and the tree branches for anything else that was stupid enough to stay put long enough, her small knife ready in her hand.

Gimli felt like he was useless as he walked beside her, his axe in his hand. He knew that if he threw his axe, the animal would have to either be paralyzed or dead for the axe to make contact with it. He hoped the same didn't go for Tributes who were walking around. He gave a sigh, and ran his hand through his auburn hair.

In his opinion, if there wasn't anybody killing each other in the Hunger Games, it would be actually really boring to watch. He was actually quite bored himself; just walking around and looking for food was not something that he would usually like to do in his spare time. Though there was always the constant edge that he was being hunted, and people were trying to kill him that always kept him from daydreaming off as he walked.

He then understood that it was the excitement of not knowing who was going to die next that made the Capitol people so obsessed with the Hunger Games. To Gimli, it was sick and wrong. He had never been able to stomach the Hunger Games before; and now that he was in one of them, he felt utterly repulsed at what the Game Makers were making him and the other children do to each other.

He imagined what it would be like if there were Capitol children in the Hunger Games. It was almost laughable. He could picture them freaking out over a broken nail, or tripping and falling in the mud. No wonder they didn't put Capitol children in the Games; it would be the most boring thing out of all of them, plus they'd most likely be more annoying than that girl from One who'd died a while ago.

Gimli gave a small sigh as he watched Freya's hand lash out and the shimmer of silver through the air. She gave him a small smile as a songbird, about the size of a roll, fell from a tree. Gimli could barely see the small silver knife sticking from its neck as he walked over and picked it up.

"Nice shot," Gimli commented as he pulled the knife from the bird's neck. He handed it back to Freya, and she beamed back up at him. "How did you get so good?"

"I practice while you sleep," she explained as she began to rub of the blood with her sleeve.

"I hope you don't use me as a target."

"If I did, you'd be dead," Freya replied with a shrug, and Gimli had to admit that it was most likely right. She probably could kill him if she wanted. Gimli was then glad that Freya did not want to kill him.

"Most likely," Gimli agreed, before they began to walk off. He was never a social creature, and Freya knew that. He wasn't going to spend all day arguing over the fact that she wouldn't be able to kill him because it'd be pointless, and he'd be wrong.

_**Anyways, **_Gimli thought to himself as he trudged along, _**this is the Hunger Games. Silence is necessary. **_

Freya took to walking beside him, mostly, but at this moment, she had decided to go a little ways in front. Gimli didn't take it any heed with it, thinking that it was probably because she had seen a squirrel or something. He watched as her red hair glistened in the light, and he felt a smile appear on his face. He shook his head, and at that moment, he noticed something in the woods to the side of them.

He held his axe higher, and narrowed his eyes. After realizing what it was, he was about to call out Freya's name, but it caught in his throat as a spear plunged into the girl's chest. She gave a shocked gasp, and blood splattered to the ground. Her eyes were wide, and she looked at Gimli for a brief second.

"Run…" she croaked, but Gimli couldn't move. Her breathing was wet and rapid, and blood constantly dribbled from her mouth as she sank to her knees. Gimli watched as the silver knife flashed through the air, and imbedded itself into the girl from Four's shoulder. The light was nearly gone from Freya's eyes as she then screamed, "RUN!"

At that moment, blood spewed from Freya's mouth, drenching her lap as she collapsed. Gimli was no longer frozen, and he turned tail and ran as fast as he could. He heard swearing from the girl from Four, and a cruel laugh, but he didn't turn back. Freya had wanted him to run, and so he ran.

Freya's cannon sounded off, and out of all of the cannons, this one was the most painful for Gimli. His vision began to blur, and it took him a couple of seconds to realize that it was because he was crying. He didn't bother to reach up and wipe them away as he tore through the woods.

He ran for much longer than he needed to; whenever her thought of stopping, Freya's last, bloody scream would remerge, and he would run harder. Eventually, he could not run any longer, and he stopped, doubling over, trying to regain his breath and choking on the tears that still had not stopped pouring down his face.

Gimli sunk to the ground, leaning on a tree for support as he grasped his hair, his elbows resting on his knees, his face contorted with grief. He looked up at the sky, as if he could look at the Game Makers to show them what they had done. He couldn't tell who he hated more; the Game Makers, or the girl from Four.

_**You did this, **_Gimli couldn't help but think as he stared into the artificial sun, _**You did this to a twelve year old girl. **_

He then buried his face into his hands, and began to sob even harder.

Lobelia smiled as she ripped her spear from the girl's chest. The pool of blood did not sink into the ground, but instead, it lapped against Lobelia's shoes. The girl from Four didn't even care as the cannon sounded with a loud boom. The best cannon of them all in Lobelia's opinion. She leaned over so that her lips were close to the dead girl's ear, and whispered, "Goodbye, bitch." She didn't care that the brat from Five couldn't hear her; the rest of Panem could.

She then straightened up, and looked at the small silver nub that was sticking out from her shoulder. Lobelia ripped it out without a second thought, and then gave a snort. "You thought you could kill me with this?" Lobelia asked, a smile screwing up her face, "This could hardly be used to open envelopes."

She threw the knife onto the ground, and then looked at the girl's belt, taking a couple of the larger knives from it, and the squirrel that the brat must have killed.

Today couldn't have gotten any better. She had a kill, but not just a kill; it was that stupid stuck up twelve-year-old who'd outsmarted her too many times. She'd left Legolas basically helpless in her betrayal, and she'd left the boy from Five an emotional wreck, and an easy kill.

Plus, it all came with free lunch.

The cannon had startled Estella, and caused the rabbit that she had been trying to kill to burst from its place. Estella cursed and threw her knife into the nearest tree. That dumb cannon had to go and ruin the only food she'd seen in ages. She guessed it was karma for killing Diamond, but she really didn't care much for it. She'd kill whoever made that cannon go off eventually.

Estella walked over and ripped her knife from the tree roughly; splinters of wood poking out after she did so. The girl just sighed; there was no point in trying to cover it up, and if anybody followed her, she'd kill them. Problem solving was much easier in the Hunger Games. There was no mediation, or trying to get both parties to agree. She just had to kill the opposing person. If only the world was truly like this.

Her stomach rumbled, and her grudge for the cannon grew. There was one thing that she missed about Diamond, and that was the fact that the girl could actually set up decent traps and put food on their metaphorical table. Estella just sighed heavily, before she made her way through the woods. There had to be _something _edible here, or at least another unsuspecting rodent that she could eat.

She ended up not being able to find anything as night neared, and grumbled to herself as she climbed up a pine tree. As soon as the sun set, the flying mutts began to shriek through the sky, and she couldn't help but curse those too. They didn't have any respect for those trying to sleep, they didn't know how to shut the fuck up, and they certainly didn't know how to kill anybody.

Estella just sighed to herself, and leaned against her tree, trying to ignore the emptiness clawing at her stomach, and the shrieks of the flying mutts.

Aragorn and Arwen watched the mutts trail across the moon. Aragorn just leaned back and chewed on one of the last apples. He had Arwen had the last two for their supper, and Aragorn was slow going at his. He raised his eyebrows, and then pointed at the mutt with the pinky of his hand that was occupied by the apple. "They're getting bolder."

"Are they now?" Arwen asked as she threw her core into the woods. She had one of her delicate eyebrows arched at him, and Aragorn just rolled his eyes.

"See? They're actually brushing the top of the trees now. I wouldn't be surprised if they landed one night," he told her as he then took the last bite of his apple. He threw the core out into the woods, before he gave a big yawn. Before he could flutter his eyes shut, the anthem decided to blare annoyingly throughout the entire arena.

The Capitol seal appeared first, and then with the picture of the girl from Five. She glistened in the air for a couple of moments, before she was replaced with the Capitol seal once more. Aragorn remembered briefly that she had only been twelve-years-old, but he banished that thought from his head. Plenty of twelve-year-olds had died in the Games before, so why was this one different?

"She was the twelve-year-old, right?" Arwen asked, and Aragorn just nodded. He watched as Arwen's face screwed up in what he thought may be grief, but it disappeared within the next second. "Well, I'm sure if the age limit was fourteen years, people would still have this reaction."

Aragorn knew what she was talking about; the reaction of how unfair it was for a twelve-year-old to be put to death in such a way. Aragorn sighed heavily, before he looked out into the night sky. There was nothing he could do about it; everybody else in these Games were going to have to die eventually. _**Even Arwen **_he thought, and a sick feeling formed in his gut.

Arwen told him that she'd take the first watch, and Aragorn just nodded before he went to sleep.

That night, he dreamt of home.

Sam heard a scuffling in the distance, and he held his knives closer to his chest. He was perched high in a tree, and still wearing his cloak, so he knew that nothing would be able to see him. He had been hearing something following him ever since he had gotten this cloak; a twig snap here, a rustle in the bushes over there. It was really starting to bother him, and make him worried.

The mutt he had gotten it from seemed to be overly protective of it; almost as if it was his obsession and his life line. Sam was beginning to think that the mutt was stalking him. He tried to convince himself that it was just him, thinking too much about it and being extremely paranoid. _**It was a mutt that killed Frodo, I have every right to be paranoid about them, **_Sam thought to himself. _**They are designed to kill us. **_

Sam distracted himself with the face in the sky; the girl from Five had been the one who died today. It made him uncomfortable to think about the fact that they were actually dead. He remembered the girl from Eight's blood splattering on him in the Bloodbath. It had only been eight days ago.

Eight days ago, Rosie and Frodo had been alive. Eight days ago, he had been well-fed and kept clean, and he only had to worry about the prospect of being in the Hunger Games. It was amazing how different a week and a day made. Two weeks ago he had been dreading being picked for these Games, and now he was a participant in them. Such little time had changed him so much.

A flying mutt then grazed his tree, causing needles and pinecones to rain down onto the ground below. Sam clung to the tree for all of his life as it swooped by again; this time, the tip of the tree had been snapped off and it tumbled towards the ground. He watched as it went, watching as it hit the ground and littered it with pine needles. He was about to look back up at the sky when he heard a cry from the ground.

Below him, scuffling about, was the mutt that had given him the bag once he had unintentionally solved the riddle. Sam's eyes widened, as the creature slunk back into the dark.

He took in a deep breath, before he looked up at the sky again. Now, he not only had to worry about the creatures in the sky, he had that other mutt to worry about. This one was worse too; this one spoke, and Sam had a feeling that this one would not senselessly fly around at night, but instead stalk him wherever he went. The creature would not rest until Sam was killed.

Sam felt the blood drain from his face as he tried to think of a way to get down the tree without the creature noticing him in the morning. He thought for a couple of seconds, before he realized that he was wearing the cloak still. The creature had no idea where he was at the moment, and Sam then decided that he would not take off the cloak at all.*

He relaxed as he then wrapped the cloak tighter around his body. The night was cold, but Sam couldn't risk taking his blanket from his pack; he was unsure if it would be invisible as well. Trembling, Sam huddled in his tree until sleep finally came.

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><p><strong>Thanks to ZeDancingHobbit, LilyMaeve, K9olaquia, and Narsilia Haywire for reviewing. Thanks to Narsilia Haywire, Elvenprincess3019, and ObsessedWithTunaSandwiches for favouritingsubscribing!**

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><p><strong>*I was thinking about the fact that Sam is unseen, and decided that the Game Makers had originally planned this, therefore, they put in infrared cameras, which they use to show the audience Sam's whereabouts. <strong>

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><p><strong>This chapter is shorter than most, because I decided that instead of writing a thousand words for each group character that had nothing happening to them, I'd just write three-four hundred words just to let you know that they are alive, not sick, and moving. Kind of like how a Tribute in the Hunger Games doing nothing wouldn't be aired as often as Tributes in the middle of killing each other, or tracking other Tributes. **

**A list of the Fallen (In Chronological Order):**

_All tributes from Districts who were not Lord of the Ring-itized (3, 7, 8, 9); Bloodbath; Day One_

_Frodo Baggins, District Four, Shelob (Mutt); Day Two_

_Rosie Cotton, District Eleven; Wargs (Mutts); Day Three_

_Sparkle Sprinkle, District One; Legolas (burned to death); Day Four_

_Ioreth Stellar, District Twelve; Infection from Warg cuts and Burns; Day Five_

_Diamond, District Six; Estella (pushed from cliff); Day Seven_

_Freya, District Five; Lobelia (spear through chest); Day Eight_


	15. We're Supposed to Kill People, Guys

_**~One Game to rule them all,  
><strong>__**One Game to find them,  
><strong>__**One Game to bring them all,  
><strong>__**And may the odds be ever in your favour.~**_

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><p>Sam was ready to escape from the mutt creature in the morning; though it was walking around his area. Sam adjusted the cloak on his shoulders, or at least where he thought his shoulders were, and he readied himself to climb down the tree. He knew that if he made a sound the mutt would probably up in his tree within a second. He took a long time to even place his foot on the first branch, and an even longer time to move his hand down. After he did so, Sam waited to see if the mutt had come over to his area, before he repeated the process.<p>

Feet, hands, look.

Feet, hands, look.

Feet, hands, look.

Again and again he went, and it took a better half of an hour to get down to the lower branches of the tree.

He was then faced with the problem of scaling the trunk. There was no way that he would be able to do it silently, as he slowly wrapped his legs around the tree, and then started to slide down. It was uncomfortable; his face was pressed into the tree bark, and it came off in brown flakes into his eyes, mouth, and rode up into his shirt, as well as falling off of his face into his shirt. As much as he did not enjoy this method, it was one of the quietest way to get down the tree.

Sam was relieved when he felt his feet graze the ground, as he let go of the tree and landed with a soft thud. He gave a soft sigh and brushed the bark bits off of him, lifting up his invisible shirt and fanning it out until he no longer felt the bark. At that, Sam began to make his way out of the area. He knew that he had left rather large and noticeable skid marks on the tree. Clearing the area seemed to be the best plan since he knew that he was being followed.

He gave a quick look over his shoulder to make sure that the mutt had not yet arrived to the scene of Sam's tree descent. That gave Sam the little reassurance that he needed before he began to run away. He tried his hardest to be quiet, but the sticks on the ground did not seem to agree with his intentions. Every time Sam took a step, it seemed to echo with the crackling of a thousand sticks, the rustling of a million leaves, and the crunch of a billion piles of dead, dried moss.

Sam gritted his teeth as he ran, but he knew that now that he had started, he could not stop. The sound of his footsteps would bring the mutt if it was nearby, and there was no point in stopping if the mutt knew where he was. His best chance, if it was the case, was to run as far as he possibly could from this place in an effort to gain some distance between himself and the strange creature.

As he ran, Sam began to wonder about the mutt. It was one of the only things that kept him from thinking about the burning in his legs from his climb and his running. He wondered why it was so obsessed with this one cloak. It only kept the wearing invisible, and it did not seem to want it back when Sam offered to give it to it. It said that they were playing a game, and Sam knew that this was his prize, but if the creature was so reluctant to take back the prize, why did it want it back now?

Sam's only conclusion was that this was a gimmick of the Game Makers. A gift that would keep a Tribute hidden from the rest of the Tributes, but make the Tribute live in horror of this creature. Sam wasn't so sure that he enjoyed this gift anymore. The paranoia of the Tributes after him was minimal compared to the paranoia of this mutt. At least Sam knew what the Tributes were; fellow people. But this mutt... it was something else.

What bothered Sam the most was that the mutt could speak, and most likely thought as a human would. It was very concerning to know that the mutt could strategize like a human could, and that, perhaps, the mutt was playing the same Games as the rest of the Tributes. There was one redeeming thought that Sam had, and that was that if the mutt was human-like, it could die like a human too. Another optimistic thought came to Sam after his first; the mutt couldn't be crowned a Victor.

Sam smiled to himself. All he had to do was outlive this mutt, and stay hidden from the Tributes, and he would be guaranteed as the Victor. It was a rather bold thought, however, and it was much easier said than done.

It did not take long for Sam to hear the scrambling of the mutt behind him, and though Sam was already tired, he pushed himself harder. _**I cannot get caught. I cannot get caught, **_he kept on telling himself, through his pains and the screaming complaints of his legs. He tried to steady his breathing, but it made no difference. Sam knew that he was going to have to find some place to hide, or the mutt would overtake him easily.

Sam was searching as he ran for some sort of salvation, looking around as he ran, but the mutt had caught up with him.

In a lunge, Sam was knocked to the ground by the mutt. They rolled around a bit, as the mutt found the clasps of the cloak, even though the mutt could not see them. It heaved, spit flying from its mouth as they grappled around, Sam's hands grasping the mutt's wrists in an effort to have it not steal the cloak.

Sam then reached for the knives in his belt, but the mutt had worked off the cloak, and could now see Samwise. Sam grabbed the knife as the mutt reached its hands around his throat. Sam tried to work the mutt off of him, stabbing it in the back as many times as he could, but the mutt's grip was much tighter than the boy from Eleven could have guessed.

Sam stabbed the mutt feebly one last time as he slipped into unconsciousness.

The cannon echoed off of the arena loudly, as both the mutt, and Samwise Gamgee, Tribute from Eleven, died.

The cannons usually were a mixed message to Tributes. If the cannon represented a foe, it was a good sign that they were closer to going home. If it was a fellow District Partner, there were sometimes mixed feelings, depending on how close the two partners were. If it was an ally, it usually meant grief, pain and sorrow.

Though those three were the most common feelings towards cannon blasts, there was a fourth one as well. Aragorn and Arwen both were feeling this fourth feeling towards the bloody cannon; _**Why did you have to sound off now? **_

The cannon had unfortunately sounded off just as the Tributes from Two were sneaking past a rather nasty smelling cave, where loud snores were heard. As the cannon sounded off, the snores were abruptly stopped, and there was shrieking of some sort.

Aragorn had acted as quickly as he could, pushing Arwen into a bush behind him before he dove into it as well. He pulled out his sword, and Arwen pulled her knives, as they pressed themselves to the ground, looking through the leaves at the cave opening. They were pressed up close next to each other, and Aragorn could hear Arwen's steady breathing. He knew that she was trying to keep herself from being too loud, and Aragorn decided that it was a good idea.

They watched the opening of the cave, hoping that whatever had been awoken by the cannon decided that it was a much better plan to stay inside the cave rather than venture out. As much as they hoped, it did not change the fact that the creatures saw fit to perhaps go and see if the cannon had been somewhere in their general area.

The mutts that exited the cave were most likely the most gruesome creatures that Aragorn had ever seen, even in all of the Games he had watched. Their skin colour varied from a dark blue, brown, and black, to beige, and in one case, white. All of their heads were malformed; their eyes squashed by tumour-esque lumps of flesh, their jaws jutting out in a way that looked almost painful, their heads expanded by the same lumps of flesh that sprouted out anywhere on their head.

They bore dark swords, most of them stained with blood. Their clothing consisted of fur, and some of them were even wearing bones like the people of the Capitol wore jewellery. As they shrieked and hooted to each other, Aragorn got a rather unpleasant view of their teeth, most of which were blackened, sharpened, or not there at all, and their gums were the colour of tar; dark brown and shiny.

Aragorn pressed himself closer to the ground, and his spare arm wrapped around Arwen, holding her to him. He tried to swallow the fear that had built up into his chest from these creatures. There were at least seven or eight of them, and Aragorn knew that Arwen was not a good fighter. If they were to be found, Aragorn would have to fight all of them on his own if Arwen was not to be slain, or at terribly injured.

Aragorn then began to wonder why he was caring so much for the well-being of Arwen. She was a fellow competitor, meaning if she died, he was that much closer to becoming the Victor of the Hunger Games. He had planned on killing her himself if it got to that, but now he was not so sure. He was starting to think that perhaps he didn't need to kill her, because they were in danger already and she would most likely be killed now.

The creatures did not slink back into their cave like Aragorn had hoped that they would, but instead, they began search the area. Aragorn knew that it was no use to hide anymore, because they were bound to be found. However, something kept him in the bushes; perhaps it was the small notion that they may have been overlooked.

Unfortunately for Aragorn and Arwen, this was the Hunger Games, and things like that did not often happen. One of the mutts searched through the bush that Aragorn and Arwen had been hiding in, and spotted them. Before it could give a screech to its fellow mutts, telling them of the Tributes' presence, his throat was punctured by Aragorn's sword.

The dying gurgle of the mutt brought the attention of the others to Aragorn, who was now standing. He looked down at Arwen, and then muttered, "Run. Now," before he charged in to fight the mutts.

The creatures, though weapon wielding, where not as skilled with the sword as Aragorn was, in fact, they were more like beginners. But even seven beginners was still a difficult challenge for Aragorn, because they all had one target; him. He had to duck and dodge as the malformed creatures swung their malformed swords at him. They had no order, however, which meant that instead of hitting Aragorn, they would sometimes hit each other.

Aragorn managed to slay four of them before he sustained a wound to his dominant shoulder. He did not cry out, but instead gritted his teeth together, and swamped sword hands. He knew that he was going to die here; he could not fight very well with his left hand, and there were still three of the mutts left.

Aragorn pared with one of the mutts, while he ducked the sword of another one. The third readied itself to swing its sword into Aragorn's gut when a knife flew through the air and caught it in the throat. Another three knives felled the mutt that Aragorn had been sword-locked with, and Aragorn whirled around, nearly cutting the remaining mutt in two.

After the mutt fell, Aragorn turned around to see Arwen standing five metres away, a knife ready in her hand, looking around the area. Aragorn gave her a smile, before he said, "Didn't I tell you to run?"

"You can't tell me what to do, Aragorn," Arwen retorted, before she noticed that Aragorn's shoulder was wounded. Her blue-grey eyes widened, before she rushed back to the bush and grabbed their bags.

Aragorn began to feel light-headed, most likely due to the fact that his right side was drenched with his blood, before he sunk to the ground. The last thing he remembered was Arwen's arms wrapped around him, and her voice, pleading for him to stay alive.

Legolas had not had any luck with his make-shift arrows since he had shot that rabbit through the leg. He had anticipated this, however, and he saved enough of the rabbit so that he could at least eat a breakfast. Legolas jolted as the cannon sounded off, a piece of his rabbit falling onto the ground from his hands. Legolas glared at the sky, before he picked up the piece of rabbit and proceeded to blow all the dirt bits off of it.

_**Another one down, **_Legolas thought to himself as he decided that perhaps a little dirt wasn't going to hurt him, and he ate the piece of rabbit. He could feel the sandy dirt grit in his teeth as he chewed, a really unpleasant feeling, but it was food nonetheless. He continued eating his rabbit, the entire time he was cursing Lobelia's name.

Part of him wished that it was her that had died, but another part of him hoped it wasn't. Legolas wanted to be the one to kill her, because he thought that any other method of death would not be nearly painful enough for a bitch like her. He groaned silently to himself. Lobelia had even affected the language of his thoughts.

He spent the rest of the morning fletching some more of these arrows, before he decided to travel and hunt at the same time. Struggling for food was never something that Legolas thought would be a problem for him in the Games, but then again, he had never anticipated having his food supply being burned to a crisp.

There were a lot of things that Legolas had never anticipated in these Games. His District Partner had been one of them. Sparkle Sprinkle. He was glad that she was gone, and he almost regretted not ending her life sooner in these Games. Perhaps he could have made off with more food if he hadn't had to stop and shoot an arrow into Sparkle. That time could have been used grabbing another pack.

But what happened had happened, and there was really nothing that Legolas could do about that.

He heard a rustling in the bush, and he waited, holding out his poor excuse for an arrow. After a moment, an unsuspecting rabbit hopped into view. Legolas exhaled silently before he released his arrow. The arrow, however, was poorly made, and it wobbled in the air, and landed a metre away from where Legolas was aiming. As if taunting him, the rabbit looked at him for a moment, before it slowly bounded off.

Legolas gave a frustrated grunt, before he shot another arrow in the direction where the rabbit had gone. To his surprise, there was a loud squeal, and Legolas burst through the bush to see the cocky little rabbit laying there, an arrow pierced in its middle.

"Ha!" Legolas exclaimed, and he knew that it was probably very childish of him, but Legolas continued, "That's what you get for being a smug bastard," Legolas walked over to the rabbit, holding his knife in his hand, "I shall call you Dinner, because that's what you're going to be."

Unfortunately for Legolas, Dinner was the only rabbit that he hit that day.

Something was off, and it was really starting to bother Merry. He felt as though something was going to happen to them, and he did not like it one bit. The past couple of days with Pippin and Boromir had been relaxing, almost. They hadn't come across any other Tributes, and they had made jests and joked, and ate Boromir's poor cooking while making fun of him. _**(It seems as though everything in District Twelve is about coal, even their cooking! **_Pippin had once remarked to spite Boromir.)

But today, that sense seemed to disappear. Merry could feel it, and he could tell that Boromir could feel it as well. The eighteen-year-old Tribute from Twelve seemed to be stiff today, his shoulder's tensed up, and his grey eyes looking through the forest, watching everything that happened. Merry watched as Boromir jolted because Pippin stepped on a stick.

"Sorry," Pippin muttered to Boromir, but before the man could respond, another voice called out.

"Why thanks. That kick did hurt, you brat. Your apology is a bit late, though."

Merry froze in recognition, and Boromir immediately drew the knife. Merry watched as Boromir moved Pippin behind him, and stared at the newcomer.

Estella was a lot thinner than Merry remembered, having not seen her in nine days, and he realized that he, too, must have been a lot thinner. But Merry wasn't quite so certain that he looked as unstable as Estella did. The girl had bags under her eyes, and her dark hair was matted and greasy, hanging in clumps that hardly moved in the light breeze.

"Oh, Meriadoc, don't act so surprised. You always knew that I was going to be the one to kill you. Is that why you partnered up with other Tributes doomed to die? A lump of coal, and a twelve-year-old brat," Estella sneered, taking a step towards them.

Pippin puffed out his cheeks; he was certainly not twelve! He was thirteen! But it really didn't seem to matter, because this girl desperately wanted to kill him for kicking her in the chest on the first day. He tried to remember her name. Merry had mentioned it before they had become allies with Boromir. Esther? Elly? Eunice? He knew it was something with an 'E'. Part of Pippin's mind told him that her name wasn't really relevant, but he knew that he was doing it because he wanted to distract himself from how scared he really was of her.

"Estella..." Merry muttered under his breath. _**So that was her name,**_ Pippin thought to himself, though it really paid him no peace of mind.

Pippin was grateful for Boromir, who was protecting him from the girl. She seemed almost like a rabid animal, her eyes wild and flickering everywhere. He noticed that she had a knife in her hand, but before he could say anything, it was whirling straight at them.

Boromir ducked, hoping that Pippin had been smart enough to duck as well, and the knife plunged into a tree behind them. The girl was on them immediately, another knife in hand. Boromir roughly shoved Pippin back as he brought up the knife. The two blades clashed against each other, before Estella withdrew hers and began to slash at him.

Boromir met her slashes with his knife, surprised that he could actually do so, and thanking the fact that he had good hand eye coordination.

"You'll die first," the girl grunted, a smirk on her face, "And then I'm killing your bratty friends."

Boromir said nothing in return as he ducked another slash, and brought his knife up in an effort to draw her off. Unlike what Boromir wanted, his knife slashed through her shirt, and left a large red cut up her stomach. Some part of Boromir wanted to drop the knife and apologize, and the other was telling him that if he did, then he would be dead. He kept to the smarter, though less sane side of him, and he held his knife ready as Estella assessed her wound.

"You son of a bitch," she yelled at him, and she came at him with renewed fire. Boromir had to keep on ducking to prevent himself from getting cut. He was sure that he would die when a rock lobbed over his head, and struck Estella in the forehead.

The girl stumbled back for a second, and Boromir looked over his shoulder to see that Pippin had picked up a couple of rocks and was using the slingshot he had gotten from the Cornucopia to fling them at Estella. Merry was throwing them, though having little success. It made Boromir feel better now that he realized that he had somebody at his back.

Through the rocks lobbing at her, and lump of coal's slashes, Estella began to think that she would lose this fight. She knew that she would not succeed. She had never been one to back down from a fight before, and she wasn't so sure that she could now. But this fight threw her life into the mix. She had to be Victor; there was nobody else who was supposed to win these Games apart from her, so she made her decision.

She slashed at the boy once more, before she turned, and ran into the woods. Blood had drenched her shirt and pants, and she had begun to feel light headed. She kept on urging herself to run, the whole while she was wallowing in her cowardice. She could not pass out, or the boys would kill her. She would never forgive herself if it was Meriadoc Brandybuck who killed her in these Games.

However, Estella's body had other plans, and she sunk to the ground, her head spinning, before she fell into unconsciousness.

"What was that about?" Pippin asked, and Boromir gave him a patronizing glance. He was still breathing heavily from the fight as he worked the knife from the tree. It would provide a good tool for the future, Boromir hoped.

"This is the Hunger Games, Pippin," Boromir told him, "That's what we're supposed to be doing."

"Eh, I prefer eating charcoal," The boy joked, and Boromir just shook his head and sighed.

Gimli felt empty, disconnected and confused. He wanted to cry, but at the same time, he also did not want to cry. He felt like he needed to stay strong, but he felt broken. He didn't really understand what he was going through; never before had he felt grief quite like this.

She was just a little girl, and now she was dead. He wondered why she was so much more important to him. He'd seen dead little girls before; those who hadn't enough to eat and had starved to death. There were also those girls who wasted away from illness in the streets because they couldn't afford medicine. He had seen dead children before, but Freya was different. Though those girls had been murdered by starvation and illness, Freya had been killed by a person. And Freya could be avenged.

Gimli sat there for a long while, unaware of most things, even the cannon that sounded off. He was vaguely aware that the girl from Four was probably looking for him. _**Let her find me. It will be the last thing she ever does, **_Gimli thought to himself, before he decided that he was starting to get hungry.

He still had the squirrel that Freya had killed, and he decided that a fire would be fine. It really didn't matter. There weren't that many people left. Gimli began to tick them off on his fingers as he sat in front of his growing fire. The girl from One. Both from Two. The girl from Four. Him. The boy from Six. Both from Ten... that was rather impressive for District Ten. The boy from Eleven, and the boy from Twelve... well, one of them were killed today. Nine of them left.

So he knew that the chances of him being found by anybody but the girl from Four was rather slim. That thought brought him ease. There was no way that he was going to allow himself to be killed by that girl. If anything, he was going to kill her, or at least see her face shining in the sky. Though Gimli knew that he was probably going to die, he _**was **_going to outlast that girl from Four no matter what. Even if it meant that he was going to eat his own legs.

For the first time since entering the Games, Gimli began to grow lonely. He missed having somebody he could talk to, somebody to rebound ideas of where to go next and somebody to keep watch while he slept so that he didn't have to be so paranoid. Not that he was paranoid like most Tributes were. He had a bloody fire going in the middle of the day for goodness sakes; there was no way that he could be considered paranoid by normal Tribute standards.

He cooked his squirrel to a point in which he thought it was done; Gimli had never been relatively skilled in the art of cooking, since usually, he never had enough food for him to cook. It tasted well enough, though he had dried out the meat completely. He knew that he probably should have kept some for later, seeing as he didn't have Freya to hunt for him anymore, but Gimli frankly didn't care. If all else failed, he could live off clovers if it mattered.

He was wiping the grease off of his hands when she came. She sauntered into his camp like she was an old friend. She didn't seem surprised that Gimli didn't give a start when he saw her, he merely nodded, and then took out his axe.

"Oh, pity. You're done your dinner. I was hoping that perhaps I'd be able to get another free lunch. Unfortunately, the last lunch I got tasted a little like a brat from District Five," the girl said with a small smile. "Well, since I'm bound to kill you, I'll give you my name. I'm Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, District Four."

"Why hello," Gimli said rather monotonously, "I am Gimli Oxford. District Five. And I'm going to kick your ass."

"Have fun with that," Lobelia said as she brought up her spear. With a lunge, she threw it at him, and Gimli whacked it away with his axe. The spear splintered, though it was still intact, and stuck in the ground. Gimli began to swing at her, and she was dodging them, sometimes bringing up a knife that Gimli recognized from being on Freya's belt, to block them. The entire time she was doing this, she had a wicked smile on her face.

Lobelia ducked under one of his swings, rolled to the left of him, and yanked out the spear. Gimli no longer had the upper hand as she thrust the spear towards him, and he dodged them as well as he could. Occasionally he had to bring up his axe to block them, much like Lobelia had to block his axe swings with the knife. Lobelia, seemingly finding a pattern in Gimli's movements, thrust the spear towards him as hard as she could.

Gimli was fortunate to bring up his axe in time, but this was what Lobelia had hoped for. The force of the spear had caused him to stumble and fall to the ground. Lobelia stood before him, and aimed the spear at his head. Gimli rolled to the side, before he regained his footing. Lobelia smirked.

"You're better than you look," she commented as she pulled the spear from the ground.

"You aren't," Gimli retorted, and she gave him another smile.

"We'll see," she told him, and Gimli growled. She threw the spear at him again, and this time, it barely missed Gimli, grazing his cheek as he moved to the side in an effort to avoid him. The spear hit the tree, and could no longer stand the force that Lobelia had been using it with, and it split in two.

Gimli knew that this was the turning point, as he brought his axe down. Lobelia had dodged the main blow to her body, but was too slow in dodging the follow through. The axe struck her in the left thigh, and she howled in pain. Gimli ripped out the axe, not caring for the damage that the action might have caused, and readied him axe to attack again. She threw a knife at Gimli's head, and Gimli swatted it to the side with his axe, as Lobelia turned and ran.

Gimli picked up his bag and began to follow the blood trail. There was no way that he was going to let this girl get away. But even with her wound, she was fast, and she had made it to a river, and must have run through it, because there was no blood trail on the other side of the bank. Gimli knew that she hadn't the strength to run upstream, so he followed the river downstream, waiting for the trail to remerge.

He did not find it, however, for the sky grew dark, and he slumped down next to a tree as the anthem played. He watched as the boy from Eleven's face shone in the sky. He glared. Lobelia should have joined that boy today. _**Perhaps, if I'm lucky, she'll die of infection. **_

That thought was a pleasant one, but also a depressing one. He wanted Lobelia to die painfully.

Little did he know, his wish would come true.

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><p><span><strong>Thanks to Narsilia Haywire, K9olaquia, ZeDancingHobbit, Guest, Elf from Downunder, ichipup, Zabusasgirl, and gabby, for reviewing! Thanks to Gigigue, Cuchulain-Setanta, and Zabusasgirl for either favouriting or following! <strong>

**Sorry for such a long wait! I have a really heavy semester in school, and I'm taking a class that it a grade above the grade that I was currently in. I was planning to finish this over the march break, but I got sick, and I was sick for a lot of this week! SORRY!**

**A lot of people pass out in this chapter... hahaha. Oooops. **

**Thank you for reading, and please review!**

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><p><strong>A list of the Fallen (In Chronological Order):<strong>

_All tributes from Districts who were not Lord of the Ring-itized (3, 7, 8, 9); Bloodbath; Day One_

_Frodo Baggins, District Four, Shelob (Mutt); Day Two_

_Rosie Cotton, District Eleven; Wargs (Mutts); Day Three_

_Sparkle Sprinkle, District One; Legolas (burned to death); Day Four_

_Ioreth Stellar, District Twelve; Infection from Warg cuts and Burns; Day Five_

_Diamond, District Six; Estella (pushed from cliff); Day Seven_

_Freya, District Five; Lobelia (spear through chest); Day Eight_

_Samwise Gamgee; District Eleven; Mutt/Gollum; Day Nine _


	16. Karma Sucks, Doesn't It

_**WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS VIOLENCE (MORE THAN USUAL) SO IF YOU DON'T LIKE VIOLENCE, SKIP THE LAST PERSPECTIVE CHARACTER. THANK YOU. **_

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><p><em><strong>~One Game to rule them all,<br>**__**One Game to find them,  
><strong>__**One Game to bring them all,  
><strong>__**And may the odds be ever in your favour.~**_

The neighbours of the Gamgees had all offered the large family their condolence as soon as the event happened; they had clearly seen on the thermal cameras that Samwise (though he looked more or less like a red and yellow blob on the screen) had been killed by a mutt. The Gamgees had thanked them for their kind words, and closed the door in their faces.

The death of any of their children would have been devastating, but the Capitol had made it worse by broadcasting it to all of Panem. Not only did their son die in a terrible way, he died while thousands of people watched, and many of them, (from the Capitol) had enjoyed watching it.

Sam's body arrived the next day. He was in a small cedar box, his hair smoothed on his face in a distasteful fashion. His mother had been sure to ruffle it up so her son looked at least a little like _her _son. The makeup artists had tried, and failed, to cover the large bruises from the mutt on Sam's neck. The bruises were blue, green and purple, and shaped like the large fingers of the mutt that had choked him.

He wore a simple white shirt, and a pair of pants. With all of the Capitol's extravagances, this was a slap to the face for the Gamgees. The Capitol stylists could afford to colour Tribute's skin a different colour, make costumes of constructed entirely of jewels, and even surgically alter themselves in strange ways, but they could not afford to put Sam in something nicer than the shirt and pants. Sam had died for their entertainment, because of a rebellion he had nothing to do with many years ago, and they were still not willing to waste the money to make him look better.

It was insult to injury, and the Gamgees knew it. It was telling them what would happen if they decided to rebel. It was a message to any family that might have known the Gamgees that rebelling against the Capitol meant death, and in the most humiliating way. It was hard to swallow, and it was meant to be.

After all, it was the Hunger Games.

Aragorn furrowed his brows and turned into the arms of the woman holding him. _**Mother, **_he thought to himself as he nestled in closer to her. She was warm and soft and comforting. Aragorn knew that he should not have been so relaxed; there was something pressing on his mind, telling him to get up because if he didn't, he was going to die. But he didn't want to; he was comfortable here, and why would any harm come to him when he was with his mother? His mother would protect him, she always had.

He felt her arms tighten softly around him, and he heard whispers in another language; his mother had always spoken like this, in the old tongue of the natives of District Two. It brought him back home, to the large house in Victor's Village where he had grown up because his father was the _best _and had won the Hunger Games. Just like Aragorn would when he grew up, his father would always tell him, despite the fact that his mother would glare.

Something was wrong... there had to be something wrong. Aragorn knew it; why did he have this feeling that he was in danger? His mother was there, she always protected him. She had saved him from their house fire; the one that had burned down his home and killed both of his parents. She had shoved him out of the window after the door out of Aragorn's room had collapsed. She always protected him.

That was when Aragorn remembered something very important; his mother was dead. And she had been since he was five years old. The arms around him no longer felt comforting, and panic began to form in Aragorn's heart. He had a feeling he shouldn't be panicked, but it was starting to consume him as the image of his mother was replaced by one of fire, and then, of terrible mutts that had bluish skin and deformities.

He jolted out of his sleep, sweat dripping down his face as he tried to remember what had happened. His right shoulder was throbbing to the heartbeat that pounded loudly in his ears as he tried to calm himself. He tried to slow his breathing as he twisted his head in an effort to see who had been holding him.

He was greeted by the face of Arwen, her brows pulled together in worry, her lips in a frown as she studied his face. Her arm was wrapped around his chest, and her free hand was steadily stroking his hair. His shoulders relaxed, the tension disappearing as he realized that he was safe as long as Arwen was here. Aragorn closed his eyes in pain again, and Arwen continued to mutter to him softly.

It took a long time, but finally, Aragorn forced his eyes open again and saw that dawn was breaking. They were still on the ground, and he realized how much danger he had put Arwen in during that night. They usually slept in a tree; sleeping on the ground was extremely dangerous. But, by the look of his companion, the dark circles that had formed under her usually perfect face, Arwen had not gotten any sleep.

Aragorn then internally scolded himself for calling Arwen's face perfect. Sure, she was beautiful, both as a person and on the outside, but this was the Hunger Games, and Arwen was going to die if he ever wanted to be a victor. He couldn't afford to fall in love with her. He couldn't. These feelings were going to get him killed sooner or later, but even with that knowledge, he knew he was fighting a losing battle.

"I cleaned and bandaged your wound," Arwen told him. "You are lucky that we forged earlier, otherwise you would have probably died of infection."

"How long have I been out?" Aragorn rasped, clearly needing some water. He had hoped it wasn't long. He didn't want to be a burden; how could he be one when he was going to win these Games? He wasn't going to win by riding it out on somebody else's shoulders when it got tough. He had always looked down upon those kinds of victors.

"Only throughout the night," Arwen informed him as she handed him the water skin, "You recover very quickly Aragorn."

She helped ease him up, her fingers avoiding his sliced shoulder. Aragorn was grateful that he was no longer in her lap; it made him feel like he was a child, which he most definitely was not. He was eighteen and he was in the Hunger Games. He wasn't like that twelve-year-old from District Five.

He brought the water skin to his lips, and began to gulp down the water. He knew that it was a precious resource, but he was so thirsty. The water soothed his dry, aching throat, and cleared his head. He stopped drinking once the bottle was half empty, not wanting to be even more gluttonous than he already was.

Arwen gave him an approving nod as Aragorn wiped his mouth of the water he had spilt. She then handed him a bunch of plants from their gathering before, and gave him one instruction, "Eat all of them."

Aragorn gladly obliged; his stomach was growling at the thought of having a meal. Despite being used to wonderful food from District Two, and from the Capitol, Aragorn relished every bite he took of the plants. When he had finished the, he most definitely was not full, but he was feeling considerably better than he had before.

He was helped to his feet by Arwen (much to his chagrin), and given back his sword. Arwen had cleaned it off with moss, Aragorn could tell because there were flakes of the spongy bryophytes left on the metal of his sword. It was when he sheathed his sword that he realized how his shoulder was going to badly affect him.

He was right handed; he had always fought with his right hand whenever he was being serious. There had been times when he had fooled around with his left hand, but that was just for fun to see how bad he truly was with it. He had been, and most likely still was, terrible using the sword in his left hand.

How the hell was he going to win the Hunger Games when he messed up his shoulder? All of his hopes had begun to wash down the drain, and Aragorn was thinking that he was more likely going to end up as a corpse instead of a victor. It was the first time since he had called out to volunteer, that Aragorn thought that he was going to die.

But, just for a moment, he had forgotten his lost hopes, as Arwen shyly got to her feet and kissed him softly on the cheek. Aragorn stiffened as she pulled back and muttered, "Thank you for saving me from the mutts," before she began to walk off.

Aragorn reached a hand up to touch his cheek, before he shook his head and stomped off after her.

Gimli woke to the sound of birds chirping; loud, annoying, and too happy for the situation he was in, and the dreams that he had had. His dreams mainly consisted of his axe embedding into Lobelia's skull, bits of her skull and brain splattering over the black ground. The dreams that did not consist of him killing Lobelia were filled with Freya's death repeating, skipping in some places. It always slowed down as the spear entered the girl's chest, and then turned to a blur of green and brown.

He had to remind himself that he was in the Hunger Games; in an arena where fifteen people had already died. Gimli furrowed his brows; fifteen people. That was more than half of the tributes gone already. He tried to remember who was alive; the prissy girl (boy) from One, both from Two, Lobelia, himself, the boy from Six, both from Ten, and the boy Twelve. He almost counted the boy from Eleven, but recalled that he had died yesterday.

_**What a strange thing to find normal, **_Gimli thought after he reflected on the boy's face in the sky. There had only been one day in this Hunger Games were a Tribute had not died, and Gimli was certain that there would not be another one until there were very few of them left. The tensions in these Games were sure to boil over soon; Gimli certainly was not keen on letting Lobelia live much longer.

He sighed to himself, his stomach rumbling as he picked up the axe he had previously dreamed of smashing into Lobelia's head. Unfortunately, it was devoid of brains and the like, though the sharp end was coated in dried blood that he had forgotten to clean off.

It both made him sick to his stomach and proud of himself. It gave him the feeling that even if _he _didn't kill Lobelia, his wound would obviously make it much easier for somebody else to kill her. It was that thought that was confusing for Gimli. If it led to her death, he would feel terrible about it; _his _actions would have led to him killing a person, just like him. But, at the same time, Gimli had always held a strong sense of vengeance, and he felt like if the wound did led to Lobelia's death, it was a sort of justice from her killing Freya.

Gimli tried to shake the little girl out of his head; if he was going to go home for her, he would have to stop being distracted by her. She was no longer alive; she no longer felt pain or sorrow or hunger. That thought made Gimli feel much better. Even though Freya was dead, at least she no longer had to live through the horror of the Hunger Games. Though it made him feel better, he could not drown the sorrow of thinking that Freya had only been _twelve _when she died.

He walked towards the river, which was steadily trickling over the rocks, and began to wash off his axe. He didn't need to have the blood on his axe. The only use it gave him was making him look a bit more menacing, and even then, the Tributes might have just figured that Gimli had slain an animal.

After the axe was clean, Gimli got to his feet, the rumbling in his stomach still clear as he pulled out one of the knives from the string he and Freya had retrieved from the burned Cornucopia. There was plenty of small game around. Perhaps he would be able to catch himself some breakfast. Or lunch. Gimli couldn't really tell how long he had slept since the canopy of trees was blocking the artificial sun, and he had been terrible at reading it. But he didn't really care, all he cared about was the fact that he was starving.

The first food that Gimli wandered upon was a patch of clover. The purplish flowers were growing in a clearing on the mountain side, in a large abundance. They made Gimli want to laugh and cry at the same time. Clover. He had first seen Freya eating it, and now all he could do was associate the flowers with the little girl he was so desperately trying to forget.

He violently ripped the plants from the ground, stuffing some in his pocket before he shoved the whole top of a flower into his mouth. There might have been really no nutritional value, but it was still food, and he was still hungry. They tasted dry, very much like pollen and how the flower smelt at the same time. It wasn't pleasant, but Gimli hadn't the heart to care about it as he swallowed, and began to eat another one.

He had made his way across the opening before he spotted his first small game. He gripped the knife tightly in his hands and threw it at the squirrel. The knife hit several centimetres short, and the squirrel paused to look at it before it scrambled up out of sight. Gimli growled, and then set his pack down and tried to scale the tree to retrieve his knife. Under his breath, he growled, "Cocky bastard," which was obviously directed at the squirrel.

After a bunch of curses Gimli had retrieved his knife, and decided to take a break and rest in the tree. A light breeze rustled the leaves of the tree, from where he could see, the sun was shining in the cloudless sky. Birds were chirping, very much like they had when they woke him up. If Gimli wasn't being hunted by his fellow Tributes, he might have enjoyed a day like this. He took in a deep breath of the clean air. It certainly was a nice day.

Or at least, it had been until the cannon sounded. The large boom echoed around the area, causing the birds to fly from the trees and fill the sky briefly before they settled back down. That was certainly not a reassuring thing. Gimli hopped from his tree, landing close to his bags. He slung them over his shoulder, put the knife in his belt (he had terrible aim anyways), before he gripped his axe tighter in his hand and made his way through the forest.

The cannon was really no surprise to Boromir, Pippin and Merry. All of them had just assumed that Estella had died of the wound that Boromir had given to her after their brief encounter. Boromir felt terrible about it, but he kept it to himself. He hadn't wanted to kill the girl, he never really wanted to kill anybody, but he had, however, wanted to protect Pippin and Merry from her. She seemed to have hated Merry with a vengeance, for whatever reason, and would not have stopped until either he, or she, had died.

The cannon was a sort of a relief for the three of them; at least there was no girl running around trying to kill them anymore. Well, there were still the rest of the Tributes, but they all wanted to kill each other _and _them. There was no longer somebody specifically trying to murder them. That was a cause for some celebration... or at least they tried to celebrate.

A celebration in the Hunger Games meant whispered cheers, splitting a handful of blackberries (they had ensured that they were blackberries) and eating some pine bark, all the while pretending it was some gourmet meal from the Capitol. Pippin was certainly good at narrating things, and then took to narrating everything that Merry was doing in a voice that could have rivalled Claudius Templesmith.

"And Meriadoc Brandybuck lifts the succulent blackberry to his lips and slowly eats it with as much sex appeal as Finnick Odiar! Meriadoc Brandybuck takes time from his extremely busy schedule and glares at me! Meriadoc Brandybuck raises his fist in a threatening manner at me! Meriadoc Brandybuck's fist is coming towards me! Meriadoc Brandybuck has just punched me in the face! It was awesome! Meriadoc Brandybuck-"

"WOULD YOU SHUT UP, PIPPIN!"

Legolas woke up in a cheery mood, despite the fact that he was currently in the Hunger Games, meaning that everybody in here was trying to kill him while he was simultaneously trying to kill them. No, Legolas woke up in a good mood this morning because he had been dreaming of home, and he stayed in a good mood because before the stress of the Hunger Games truly set upon his shoulder, he had found a blood trail.

It could have been the blood of an animal, and Legolas could have been wasting his time, but the chances of it being a person (preferably Lobelia) had put him in a rather cheery mood. It'd been a long time since he killed somebody in these Games. The last life he'd ended was his annoying District Partner, and he wasn't really sure if she counted. Legolas certainly wanted to have a much higher kill count in these Games if he was ever to become a Victor.

So Legolas followed the blood trail in hopes that he would find something (hopefully some_body_)at the end of it.

He didn't find anything immediately; though he found a couple of rabbits, and shot them in quick secession. He missed one of them, but hit the other in the leg, which gave him enough time to properly kill it. What bothered Legolas the most about the rabbits was that if he had proper arrows both of them would have been dead, and he would have certainly had a better supper.

He strapped the rabbit to his belt, and continued to follow the trail. From the distance between the blood droplets, Legolas could tell that the wound on whatever it was had been either staunched, or it had been clotting. _**But, **_Legolas reckoned to himself, _**if it was moving it's not likely that the blood would start to clot. **_That brought a smile to his face. There was only one other option; this was the blood trail of a person.

Legolas readied one of his makeshift arrows in his bow as he continued to follow the blood trail. It kept on weaving in and out of the small stream, but not at large enough intervals for Legolas to lose track of it. This action had solidified Legolas's growing suspicion that this trial belonged to a person. He was just hoping that it belonged to Lobelia.

It was around midday when Legolas heard the curses; low, steady, and all directed to a certain 'brat from District Five'. Legolas immediately recognized that the voice belonged to Lobelia, and he paused. He then remembered the broken arrows in his backpack. He grinned to himself, before he slung the backpack off of his shoulders, and dug into the backpack, pulling out two of them. If she was injured, she wouldn't be able to run, or at least run fast enough to escape Legolas. He might as well give the Capitol a show.

Legolas made sure that he had purposely stepped on a stick when he entered Lobelia's sight. The snap caused her to whip up her head, and reach for the knife to her side. Legolas walked carelessly; if she threw the knife, he could dodge it, and if she kept it, he could easily disarm her. Lobelia's eyes widened as she saw the shimmering (despite being unwashed for ten days) blond hair of the boy from One.

"Hello, Lobelia," Legolas said casually as he sat down on the log across from her. Lobelia narrowed her eyes at him, but Legolas wore a light-hearted smirk. Legolas watched as her eyes flickered down to the two broken arrows in his hands and then back to his face.

"Hello, Legolas," Lobelia grumbled, her teeth gritted together in pain.

"Care to explain these?" Legolas demanded, holding the arrows up so they were eye level. He did not fail to notice that Lobelia had shifted the knife closer to her.

"I figured I could do better without you, Leggy," Lobelia told him, a bit of her old snarky tone coming back into her voice, "And I figured the rest of the Tributes would be better off without you... and your arrows."

"That was a bad idea," Legolas growled at her, as he stood up. Lobelia held the knife, ready to throw or stab.

"I left you _alive _at least," Lobelia spat at him. Legolas raised his eyebrows at her, and then began to laugh.

"You think that _I'm _going to return the favour?" Legolas chuckled as he stared at Lobelia's slowly falling face. "You have misjudged me greatly, Lobelia. I didn't come here with intent to help you. I came here to kill you, and I'm not leaving until I do so."

Lobelia jerked to her feet, slashing the knife downwards at Legolas, who merely sidestepped it, and brought out his leg, kicking her down. Lobelia hit the ground with a thud, grass and dirt getting into her mouth as she cried out from the pain in her leg. If Legolas would have guessed what her thoughts would have been, she was probably cursing both him, and that boy from District Five.

Legolas kicked her so she was on her back, hearing a rather satisfying crack as he realized that he had broken one of her ribs. Lobelia had bitten her lip to keep herself from crying out in pain. Legolas leaned over, and plucked the knife from her grasp, tossing it just out of her grasp. Lobelia scrambled to retrieve it, but Legolas straddled her, pinning her arms down with his knees.

"You thought I could deal without my arrows?" Legolas asked as Lobelia's hands flapped underneath his grip uselessly. Legolas lifted one of the points as if he was inspecting it, and smiled when he saw Lobelia's eyes dilate in fear. "Well. You'll see how I _deal_ _without my arrows."_

Legolas studied Lobelia as if he was picking the perfect place for him to stab before she spit in his face. Legolas wiped it off with his sleeve, glared down at her, saying nothing as he jammed the first broken arrow into her left collar bone. The girl from Four screamed loudly, thrashing underneath Legolas's hold, her head smashing against the ground in her struggle. Legolas gave a small chuckle.

"Don't worry, Lobelia, I have twenty more," he assured her as he put the other one in his hands in her opposite collarbone. This time, Lobelia only whimpered in pain. Legolas thought that she might have said 'please' but he wasn't sure as he reached over and dumped out the contents of his backpack. The twenty or so broken arrow tips he had left clattered to the ground, and Lobelia eyed them in horror.

"Just kill me already!" she yelled, and Legolas gave a snort.

"You should have done that to me days ago," Legolas said, leaning his face down so it was inches away from hers. "But you didn't Lobelia. Being nice will get you nowhere in the Hunger Games."

Lobelia looked like she was going to call him any foul name she knew (which would have been quite a lot) as Legolas shifted his attention from her abdomen and pierced her leg wound with one of the arrows. Her scream was quite satisfying, so Legolas stabbed yet another one into the wound, and was rewarded with yet another scream.

He began to pin Lobelia to the ground with arrows; going back up to her collar bone and trailing down her middle. All the while, she struggled, screamed, whimpered, and cursed him. Finally, Legolas only had one arrow left. Lobelia had quieted down, her eyes glazed over though he could tell she was still breathing due to the rapid rise and fall of her chest. Legolas gripped the arrow tightly in his hand, before he leaned down so he could whisper in her ear.

"Too bad we weren't allies, right, Lobelia?" Legolas muttered, before he drew back and stabbed the last arrow in her heart He waited a couple of seconds before the cannon sounded, before he scrambled off of her. Looking down at his clothing, he gave a small growl. He was covered in blood now. Great.

He repacked his bag, leaving the arrows inside Lobelia, and took the rest of her things, including the knife he had flicked away. He was feeling quite hungry, so he began to march off into the distance when a silver parachute caught his attention. He watched as it fell, before he reached up and caught it. Obviously his show had impressed the sponsors in the Capitol.

He opened up the package and grinned.

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><p><strong>A list of the Fallen (In Chronological Order):<strong>

_All tributes from Districts who were not Lord of the Ring-itized (3, 7, 8, 9); Bloodbath; Day One_

_Frodo Baggins, District Four, Shelob (Mutt); Day Two_

_Rosie Cotton, District Eleven; Wargs (Mutts); Day Three_

_Sparkle Sprinkle, District One; Legolas (burned to death); Day Four_

_Ioreth Stellar, District Twelve; Infection from Warg cuts and Burns; Day Five_

_Diamond, District Six; Estella (pushed from cliff); Day Seven_

_Freya, District Five; Lobelia (spear through chest); Day Eight_

_Samwise Gamgee; District Eleven; Mutt/Gollum; Day Nine _

_Lobelia Sackville-Baggins; District Four; Legolas; Day Ten_

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><p><strong>Thanks to Lilac Night, Lily Maeve, ZeDancingHobbit, Emily, Elf from Downunder, hiddendreamer67, The Joker 15, Guest, and Captain 'Murica (I love your username) for reviewing! Thanks to hiddendreamer67, The Joker 15, Sablestar Braveheart, aefloyd1 and Captain 'Murica for favouritingfollowing. **

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><p><strong>Guest; Yes I know who wins. No, I'm not telling you.<strong>

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><p><strong>Pippin, Merry and Boromir really get a little part in this chapter because I just need to tell you guys that they're alive. Yay. So that's why they have a tiny part in the chapter. <strong>

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><p><strong>SURPRISE! Look, ma, I updated! Sorry for taking so long. I actually labeled the document that I was working on "Chapter Sixteen (Sorry I suck edition)".<strong>

**I would say that I had genuine reasons, but really, I was lazy.**

**If you do want a list of reasons, I could say, I was sick (found out that I was a celiac. (BOOOH) Well, at least I'm not going to be sick anymore!), I had school to do (my exams are evil and over... I'm pretty sure the reason why I didn't get perfect on m English Exam was because my teacher didn't want me too), and I decided that for my friend's birthday, I would write her a story, which occupied most of my time from the beginning of May to the end of June (yeah, I gave myself a month and a bit to write a 30 000 word story... I know I'm stupid). **

**But, now that I'm on summer vacation, I have plenty of time to work on my stories, but I might not be able to update them as quickly due to the fact that my cottage (where I spend most of my time in the summer) has no internet. **


	17. Shot Through The Heart

**Note: The first part of this chapter was written when I was suffering from a minor concussion. If it doesn't make any sense, it's because my brain is literally scrambled and because I have no beta.**

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><p><em><strong>~One Game to rule them all<br>One Game to find them,  
><strong>__**One Game to bring them all,  
><strong>__**And may the odds be ever in your favour~**_

Legolas could not help but beam down at his gift, even though he had had it in his possession for the entire night. He wondered how expensive it was, but he frankly didn't care. Even though this must have been costly, it would certainly eliminate his need for any sponsor support for the next few days, and by then, Legolas presumed that he would have enough money on him to purchase really anything that he might need. Not that he would need much. Oh no, Legolas was on a first class flight to being a Victor with this.

It was just one simple object; an object that Lobelia had stolen from him. Ironically, he had gotten it back after he had stolen her life. Arrows. Thirty beautiful, metal arrows fletched with artificial green feathers to match his eyes. The people of the Capitol were so full of making things aesthetically pleasing, but Legolas didn't mind. They had even given him a new bow; a silvery metal with greenish ribbons of metal running down through it.

The bow was marvellous and Legolas could not wait to use it.

He would have preferred the first shot to have been one at a Tribute, but after the fire, Legolas knew the importance of the hunger part of the Hunger Games. He had to go hunting. The supplies he had taken from Lobelia had only lasted him the night; she must have been running out of food to eat because her supply was pathetic. So, after he was finished admiring the bow for the morning, and after he had scoped the area for any of the flying mutts that may had decided to stay during the day, he hoped from his tree, and notched an arrow into the bow.

It felt absolutely wonderful to be wielding proper arrows, and Legolas could not resist but to shoot at the nearest tree. The arrow missed its mark by a foot, and Legolas realized it was because he had been used to shooting with his own, make-shift arrows. He took a couple more shots with it until he was satisfied with his aim, before he went out into the woods. There would be no more rabbits getting away from him now. No more squirrels that would angrily chatter at him when he missed. No, they would all be breakfast, lunch and dinner.

The first unfortunate creature that Legolas stumbled upon was a red squirrel, perched in the tree and squabbling loudly. Legolas silenced it with one easy shot to the eye, and smirked as he picked it up. He shot a rabbit and another squirrel before he decided that he would stop for breakfast. He was nearing the lake and the ash filled valley that used to be his camp. He had fond memories of that place, thinking specifically of the arrow that plunged into Sparkle's throat and the boy from District Five who flipped him off. Legolas was going to kill that boy; he didn't want anybody else to kill him.

He lit a small cook fire, hoping that the smoke wouldn't give him away. He really didn't care if anybody came, but he was slightly concerned in the fact that the boy from District Two (Aragorn, a part of his mind said) was still out and about. That boy was his main concern in becoming a Victor. As soon as he was dead, Legolas knew it was going to be an easy ride to the end of the Games.

He only cooked one of his squirrels, saving the other ones in the bag he had stolen from Lobelia. After eating, he stomped out his fire, and continued his way along the mountain around the lake. He knew it was faster to go down into the valley and run across there, but even with the boy from Eleven out, he remembered that the girl from Ten was very good at throwing knives, and the boy from Two (Aragorn) _shut up_ was pretty decent with the bow. He didn't want to be an open target for snipers.

He made his way around the lake carefully, filling up his water canister, and he entered the forest on the other side. He assumed that whoever had lit fire to the valley was hiding back here. Legolas had to pay them back for their courtesy. He notched an arrow in his bow, and slunk through the woods, looking for any sign of another person.

He found one before lunch; three actually. The boy from District Twelve, the boy from Ten, and the boy from Six. He wondered why the boy from Twelve flocked towards those boys; from what Legolas could remember, the boys were only good at the slingshot which was something that was rather useless when it came to killing people.

Legolas took aim at the boy from Six first; the mahogany-haired boy was completely oblivious to the threat, chattering quietly away to his blonde friend from Ten. Legolas smirked as he drew his arm back and aimed for the throat. This was going to be too easy.

Suddenly, the boy from Twelve's head whipped upwards and his grey eyes found Legolas in the thicket of trees. _**Too late, **_Legolas thought as he loosed his arrow.

Boromir knew that something was wrong from the moment he had woken up. Something seemed different about today, though he kept that feeling to himself as they ate breakfast and went on their way. There was something up, but since Boromir couldn't exactly place it, he didn't want to tell Pippin and Merry of his feeling and worry them for no reason. He looked down at his feet as they walked through the woods, watching out for sticks.

He wasn't exactly the loudest of the group, but he wasn't the quietest either. Pippin took the crown for being the loudest; constantly talking to Merry about little things like food he missed from home. Merry was the quietest, nodding and smiling at Pippin whenever he spoke, and never stepping on a stick, ever. Boromir was in the middle, he never spoke, but he stepped on more sticks than he could count. Pippin blamed it on Boromir being too tall to see his feet. Boromir had found that incredibly amusing.

Boromir gave a smile at the memory; the past days in the Hunger Games where he had been allied with Pippin and Merry were probably better than any Tribute could have hoped for. He was grateful for the boys and he was glad that they had become his friends. In a game where the main rule was to kill each other, friendships were rare.

Suddenly, Boromir felt like he was being watched. His head shot up, and he saw a glimmer in the woods. Nothing in nature shone quite like that, and Boromir narrowed his eyes to see that it was a bow; a shiny silver bow with the long-haired boy from District One wielding it. The arrow was pointing directly at Pippin, and the boy seemed to meet Boromir's gaze, as he gave a smile, and loosed the arrow.

There wasn't enough time to shout out; to tell Pippin to duck or move out of the way. Boromir only shoved past Merry, and threw his arms out to shield the thirteen-year-old bow. Boromir's jaw clamped tightly as he heard Pippin's loud exclamation, and as the arrow cracked through one of his ribs. He tried not to cry out in pain, but the arrow had pierced his lung and he could not help it.

He coughed, blood filling up the back of his throat, and he spat it out, trying not to sink to his knees or lower his arms. He had to protect them; there was nothing else he could do now. There was no way that he was going to survive a wound like this in the Hunger Games.

"Boromir!" Pippin cried out, grabbing onto his sleeve, "Come on!"

Boromir glanced over his shoulder at the boy; the desperate look of hope that had claimed Pippin's face made Boromir's heart sink. "I can't, Pip. Run; I will stall him as much as I can."

"Take this," Merry slipped the knife into Boromir's hand, before he looked at his dear friend for a second, "Thank you, Boromir Stewart. You are the bravest Tribute who has ever entered the Hunger Games."

"You are the bravest Tribute who will ever be in the Hunger Games," Pippin sounded like he was choking back tears, "But you're still a lousy cook." Boromir could tell that Pippin was trying to force a smile, and Boromir gave him a smile back.

"Bye," Boromir told them, "Go. Go now."

He gave them a shove, before he turned to block the other arrow he had heard whizzing through the air. He stepped in front of Merry, and took the arrow near his hip. He grunted in pain, before he yelled, "RUN!" The next thing he heard was the scrambling of the two boys behind him.

Boromir smiled to himself as he steadily gripped the knife in his shaking hand. He held it up for a second, before he charged at the boy from One. He was greeted by an arrow; right above his heart. Boromir sunk to his knees; trying to get back up and failing. He felt light headed, and he slumped back so he was leaning against a tree.

He was dying. It was more of an 'oh' moment than one of panic. He looked up at the tree, seeing the leaves move in the wind, seeing the sun peeking out between the green leaves. This was a good place to die, he decided, as he took in a shuddering breath. It hurt, Boromir thought to himself, but he couldn't bring himself to cry. Boromir looked down at the knife in his hand; gripping it tightly as he moved his gave to the boy in front of him.

"You are the stupidest Tribute ever, Twelve," the boy from One told him, before he turned away to go find Pippin and Merry. Boromir hoped that they had gotten away.

Boromir looked down at the grass, feeling incredibly lightheaded, his body slumping as his life was slowly drained out of him. Before he lost conscious for the last time, he muttered, "I'm sorry, Faramir."

Boromir was gone as the cannon shook the arena.

Gimli looked up at the cannon sound; hoping that it was the girl from District One, and not one of his victims. He knew that the chance of that was very unlikely, but Gimli still liked to hope. Anything could happen in the Hunger Games, and Gimli knew that the Tribute that had just died could have been anybody.

Gimli finished sharping his axe, as he set down the rock, and straightened up. It was nearing late afternoon, and all he had eaten was a clump of clover. He was definitely going to starve to death if he didn't find some sustenance soon. Gimli wanted to go out with a bang; perhaps an arrow to the head from the girl from District One, but then again, Gimli would never forgive himself if he was killed by that tree-shagging ninny.

He knew that he had to find food, and he had to find it fast. He filled up his water skin in the stream, before he began to walk down stream. He knew that the only place he was going to go was the burned valley, but there was really nowhere better for him to go, apart from the rather scary looking mountain, but Gimli wanted to steer clear of that more than he wanted food.

He decided to wade through the stream; he had seen silvery fishes swimming around in the water, and he was hoping that maybe he would be able to catch them. He emptied his backpack; there wasn't really much in it apart from the string of knives, his medicine tablets he had yet to find a use for, his blanket, his rope, his matches, the strange goggles and a little bit of clover. Gimli experimented with the backpack for a couple of seconds; finding that the water flowed through it relatively easily.

He grabbed his length of rope, and used it to make a handle so he could tow the backpack behind him. Perhaps he could catch some fish with this. His stomach rumbled. Gimli would be incredibly annoyed if he didn't catch any fish; he would have to repack his entire backpack, and then carry it on his back, wet, for no reason.

He walked along the stream, pulling his backpack through the water, occasionally checking to see if he had caught any fish, and making sure that the backpack entrance hadn't closed. It took half an hour, but when he looked down, he saw that he had a fish.

He pulled out his backpack, watching as the water drained, and the fish began to flop on the bottom on it. It was tiny, but it was food. Gimli was tempted just to eat it now, but he decided that the risk of getting sick was too great for him to do it. He rushed back to where he had hidden his stuff (in the hollowed stump of a tree, covered by moss), and grabbed a long stick, and some matches, before he started a little fire.

As the fire was getting big enough for him to cook on, he gutted the fish, leaving the entrails at the bottom of his backpack to use as bait for the next fish, and stuck the stick through the fish's throat and stuck it in the tail. He turned it slowly on the fire, careful to not burn it, or let it fall.

When he deemed it ready, he burned his tongue as he shoved the food into his mouth. There really wasn't much for him to eat, even as he chewed some of the bones that he had been too lazy to spit out, but the food felt good in his stomach. With this, he could get more, and now, he wouldn't even have to move; the fish would come to him.

He set his backpack in a pool; a part of calm water in the stream caused by a rock blocking the current, and stood, waiting for the entrails of the previous fish to attract more. He got many minnows, but some decent sized fish in his bag before he decided to haul it up.

With this, Gimli felt much more confident in the fact that he would probably be able to feed himself, as long as there was a source of water nearby. He never liked to wander far from the stream; it was a source of water, and food now. He would make his home around here, now that Lobelia was no longer a problem.

Gimli still felt a bit disgruntled in the fact that he was not the one to kill Lobelia, but he was grateful that she was dead; at least Freya's killer wouldn't be the Victor. Gimli sighed, dumping the water from his water skin onto his fire to dowse the flames. That meant that there were only three (hopefully two now, judging by the cannon) Career Tributes left. Perhaps Gimli would be able to go home after all.

He dared not to hope, because to do such a thing would most likely lead to his death.

Aragorn blearily opened his eyes as the cannon sounded. Though he was getting better, he still felt terrible. His mind kept on replaying the little kiss that Arwen had left on his cheek, but she seemed to be acting like nothing had happened. It was incredibly frustrating for Aragorn; he was a killing machine, not a sissy that fell in love during the Hunger Games. Arwen would have to die if he was to go home, and Aragorn wasn't going to let his feelings get in the way of that if it came to them being the last two.

Arwen had been going easy on him since he had injured his shoulder; letting him nap in the middle of the day as she forged. As much as Aragorn needed the rest; he hated doing it. He had wanted to do these Games all by himself, and now he was admitting to himself that he would have been dead if it were not for Arwen. That frustrated him even more; to be a Victor was to be alone, and here he was with Arwen, depending on her like a baby depended on their mother.

"Oh, you're awake," Arwen commented, as she reached down and placed a hand on his forehead. Aragorn both wanted to snatch her hand away and lean into the touch. He compromised by doing nothing but stiffening as she touched him. "You have no fever, that's good. How are you feeling?"

Aragorn vaguely wondered if _**pissed off **_counted as an answer. Instead, he gave a small smile, and then said, "Fine. A bit stiff. How are you?"

"I am fine, Aragorn," Arwen replied, "Shall we be off?"

"Who was that?" Aragorn demanded, referring to the cannon. Arwen arched a brow at him, as Aragorn pulled himself to his feet. "I mean, who do you think it was?"

"Well, yesterday Lobelia died," Arwen commented, "And the last thing I knew was that Legolas and Lobelia were allies, so maybe they got attacked, and Lobelia died on the spot, and Legolas just died a now of his injuries."

Aragorn considered this for a second; it was very plausible, and he was hoping that it was the case. Legolas was the only hindrance left in his way of becoming Victor; being the only one left from the original 'Career' (as the other Districts called them) alliance apart from Arwen. Arwen, Aragorn considered, was definitely not a block in his road, instead, she was a step to get him out of these Games.

Arwen handed him a handful of berries, not waiting for Aragorn to respond to her previous statement. Aragorn nodded in thanks, and threw them into his mouth without a second doubt. Aragorn then froze after he had swallowed. Arwen could have easily handed him poisonous berries and he would have not doubted her for a minute. She gave him a soft smile, as Aragorn slowly brought his arm down.

Perhaps he had been underestimating Arwen. She could easily take him out with no more than a handful of berries; Aragorn had just thought that she liked him enough to not do so. But, this was the Hunger Games, and friendships always ended in blood.

Aragorn gave Arwen a smile in return as he threw the lighter of the two backpacks over his shoulder, carefully trying to not jar his injured shoulder.

If Arwen wanted him dead, she would have just left him when they were being attacked by those mutts. Perhaps she was just using him to get further on into the Games... but that made no sense. Aragorn was more of a burden than anything else now, if Arwen was only keeping him to get farther in the Games, she would have killed him after he had passed out from his shoulder wound. Nobody was that stupid to actually think that he would be useful with this wound.

Maybe Arwen was trying to keep Aragorn alive, but he had no idea why she was doing so. Aragorn gave a small sigh as they made their way through the woods. They were in the final seven now; Arwen was going to make a move sometime soon, and Aragorn would be ready for it.

Estella cursed herself, gripping onto her shoulder as she clung to the branch of the tree with her other hand. Night had fallen, and those bloody flying mutts were still flying around, there was no way that she could still move, especially after that boy from Twelve had injured her shoulder. The only reason why she was still awake was because she wanted to know who had died today. The stupid Game Makers were taking too long with announcing the death.

Suddenly, the Capitol anthem blared through the arena, and Estella's head snapped upwards. She had to squint to see through the needles of the tree, but after doing so, she saw that it was the boy from Twelve. Estella smirked; served that bastard right. She was surprised that somebody from Twelve even made it this far in the Games, usually they died in the bloodbath.

But it didn't matter anymore; he was dead, and so was Twelve's chance of having a victor this year. Estella leaned into the tree with a smile, before she realized something. He was gone now... which meant that Merry's protection was also gone. She gave a small chuckle. Oh, this would be good. What would dearest Merry do without his bodyguard now?

Estella's smile did not leave her face as she closed her eyes. She wanted to get to sleep quickly; tomorrow was going to be an eventful day.

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><p><strong>A list of the Fallen (In Chronological Order):<strong>

_All tributes from Districts who were not Lord of the Ring-itized (3, 7, 8, 9); Bloodbath; Day One_

_Frodo Baggins, District Four, Shelob (Mutt); Day Two_

_Rosie Cotton, District Eleven; Wargs (Mutts); Day Three_

_Sparkle Sprinkle, District One; Legolas (burned to death); Day Four_

_Ioreth Stellar, District Twelve; Infection from Warg cuts and Burns; Day Five_

_Diamond, District Six; Estella (pushed from cliff); Day Seven_

_Freya, District Five; Lobelia (spear through chest); Day Eight_

_Samwise Gamgee; District Eleven; Mutt/Gollum; Day Nine _

_Lobelia Sackville-Baggins; District Four; Legolas (broken arrows); Day Ten_

_Boromir Stewart; District Twelve; Legolas (three arrows to the chest); Day Eleven_

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><p><strong>Thanks to LilyMaeve, Simbelmyne Nienor, Elf from Downunder, Writeranonymous, hiddendreamer67, and SoClovely for reviewing! Thanks to 149012827 for favouriting and subscribing! <strong>

**Thanks for reading and please review! (I forgot to do this last chapter and I felt horrible for not thanking you guys for reading it, seriously)**

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><p><strong>LE GASP, AND UPDATE SO SOON?<strong>

**As mentioned before, I was suffering a minor concussion through the first little bit of Legolas's perspective. Throughout the rest of Legolas's, all of Boromir's, Gimli's and the first little bit of Aragorn's, I was still a little wonky, but much better than before. I hope that it makes sense, but I really needed to start this and update, I WILL NOT TAKE MONTHS THIS TIME!**

**I KILLED OFF BOROMIR! Poor baby... but he had to die. HE HAD TO GO. I planned his death literally since I started this, but it did not make it any easier to write. Actually, I'm lying, I had a blast writing that scene. Paid homage to his death in the books/movie. You guys were totally expecting that, weren't you?**

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><p><strong>I was writing this and I was at Aragorn's perspective, and I had the nagging feeling that I was forgetting somebody. I spent ten minutes figuring out that I wasn't; everybody else was dead. Wow... that's kind of weird. There are only SEVEN people left. Wowwwww... The chapters are getting shorter because of the lack of people to write about... ugh. I'm sorry, longer updates, shorter chapters?<strong>

**Who do you think is going to die next?**


	18. The Falling of A Star

_**~One game to rule them all,  
><strong>__**One game to find them,  
><strong>__**One game to bring them all,  
><strong>__**And may the odds be ever in your favour~**_

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><p>Faramir had left the room even before the cannon sounded. He knew it was going to happen, but he didn't need to see it. No little boy needed to see their big brother, their hero, the one that was always there for them when nobody else was there, die. Especially on nation wise television with some stupid Capitol men narrating it like it was some novel.<p>

Faramir ran; he ignored his father's shout and he had run as fast as he could out of his home. It didn't matter that it was a particularly chilly day in the summer and that he had no shoes. He just didn't want to see Boromir die. He had heard Boromir's last words, though. That was when he had to leave. Even in some distant place, so far away from where Faramir was now, Boromir's last train of thought had been about Faramir.

It hurt more than any hurt before. It hurt more than the time when he had fallen and broken his arm. Boromir had been there for him when that happened. Now, Boromir would never be there for him ever again. Faramir tried, and failed, to keep in a strangled sob, as he sank to his knees, his sorrow taking complete hold of him.

The Meadow was desolate apart from the sobbing thirteen-year-old boy. Faramir gripped the grass, ripping it from its roots before he began to pound on the ground. It was unfair. It was so unfair. Why did Boromir have to die? Why did Boromir, his big brother, have to leave him? Why couldn't have it been anybody else? Why didn't Faramir go and volunteer for him?

Faramir stopped hitting the ground as he gave a small scream, his forehead pressed against the soft grass. _Why? Why? Why? Why? _Tears streamed down Faramir's nose as he began to whimper. _Why?_

Faramir wasn't aware of the footsteps rustling the grass, and he didn't notice the other person until they put their hand on his shoulder. Faramir jolted upwards, staggering back a couple of metres, before he realized who it was. It was hard to forget who she was even with his mind so filled with grief. Her long blonde hair made sure of that.

It was Eowyn, the girl from Faramir's grade that Boromir had always teased him about liking. Faramir stared at her for a couple of seconds, sniffling, before he brought up his hands and covered his face. He didn't want anybody to see him like this, especially Eowyn.

What Faramir was not expecting was Eowyn wrapping her arms around him, and holding him tight. "He was a hero, Faramir..." her voice sounded choked with her own tears, "Boromir's a hero. He always will be... I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, Faramir."

Faramir said nothing, gripping her back before he began to wail into her shoulder.

Gimli felt hollow. Not only was he absolutely starving, he was now thinking that the only Tribute he would have liked to have won instead of him had been killed yesterday. Now he had to deal with the fact that if it wasn't him, it would probably be the boy from Two, or the girl from One. And Gimli didn't like either of them.

He supposed that perhaps he shouldn't have picked another favourite, and if he had to have picked another favourite, it should have been Freya. It had been Freya... but she had died four days ago. Gimli gave a short laugh at that thought. She had only died _four _days ago. It felt like an eternity in the Games. Days were weeks and weeks were years in here.

Gimli was surprised that he had even made it this far. He was lucky enough that fish were genetically bred to be stupid, so he could catch a few of them, but he was unfortunate enough that fish were not filling at all. He could catch five in one go, but he would need at least twenty to feel like he had any food in his stomach. It didn't help that the fish that Gimli caught were more like minnows than they were fish.

Gimli stamped out his fire and looked at the crispy, almost burned fish on his stick. Six in total, though they looked more like bite-size snacks than a meal. Gimli hadn't even bothered to gut them, as he ate two of them off of the stick, and the organs squished in his mouth. He swallowed hard, trying to not spit them out as the bones cracked in his teeth. He tried not to think about anything else as he ate the rest of them.

He shifted his axe in his hand; with only seven people left, he had to be wary. Home was so close that he could almost taste it, but he was not going to allow himself to be lulled into the security. Though there were few Tributes left, there were still the flying mutts, and who knew what else out there, and he was not going to be caught unawares.

Though Gimli knew he had to stay alive, he had lost what he had thought was his purpose in these Games. With Lobelia gone, and Gimli's chance to get revenge for Freya stolen from him, Gimli felt like he was an aimless puppy just trying to survive on the streets of the Capitol.

Gimli supposed that he could go after the girl from One, but Gimli would rather that the two Careers duke it out by themselves. From what he recalled in training, the two absolutely despised each other, and were probably hoping that every cannon they heard was the other. Gimli was starting to hope that every cannon he heard was going to be one of them.

A low grumble, probably somebody commenting on something, jolted Gimli from his thoughts. His head snapped up as he looked around him and saw them. It must have been the two from Two. What their names were, Gimli had long forgotten them or he never bothered to learn them, but he certainly remembered that the boy from Two was pretty good at killing things.

He was vaguely aware that both of them had Victors as parents, but he brushed it off. They were already Career Tributes, Gimli's imagination didn't need to make the situation completely hopeless. So what if they had been training their _entire _lives to go into these Games? So what if they probably knew sixty-five ways to murder a child with a paperclip? And so what if there was two of them and one of him? He wasn't going to let them kill him.

He wasn't going to confront them either. He was definitely not strong enough to defend himself against such opponents, and Gimli decided that the flight instinct was certainly stronger in this situation.

Well, it had been a good idea, but it only remained as such, because Gimli heard the girl point him out to her companion. _Oh Valar, _Gimli thought to himself as he turned to see them both running at him, _I am going to die. _

It was the girl who reached him first, much to Gimli's surprise. He only had a moment to take in the fact that the boy seemed to be injured as he brought up his axe to block the knife that came swishing down at him. The girl's hair flew out as she twisted, attempting to get past Gimli's axe with the knife in her other hand. Gimli ducked, and kicked her in the shins, trying to get at least some leverage. The girl didn't even seem to feel his kick as she swung down at him again.

Gimli took a step back, the knife whistling through the air as it barely missed his throat. Gimli raised his axe again, blocking one of the knives before he saw an opening. He tried not to look at the girl's face as he took it, swinging his axe hard into her ribs. What Gimli hadn't been expecting was that the other knife would still be coming. The blade slashed across his face, cutting from his left forehead to his right cheek, slicing clean through his nose.

Gimli staggered backwards as the girl slumped to the ground, her knives fallen, gripping her bloodied side. She began to cough, blood splattering on Gimli's boots before the boy from Five turned and ran as fast as he could in the opposite direction.

He had been running for a long while before the cannon shook the entire arena.

"ARWEN!" Aragorn screamed as the auburn-haired boy disappeared through the trees. Aragorn's District partner lay in a heap on the ground, blood quickly pooling around her fragile form. Aragorn didn't care about the boy as he sunk to his knees and pulled Arwen into his lap, frantically looking at her wound.

_There has to be a way... there _has _to be a way to heal her_, Aragorn thought desperately, but his hopes were destroyed as Arwen gave him a small smile. Her teeth were bloodied; the only way that would have been possible was if her lung had been punctured by the boy's axe. And now, as he looked at her wound, Aragorn wasn't surprised that it had.

Bits of her ribs were poking through other places, her entire right lung in shambles. Even though he knew it was hopeless, Aragorn still tried to staunch the blood that was rapidly flowing out of Arwen and onto his lap.

"No," Aragorn heard himself say as he stared at the beautiful girl. "No... No you can't... Arwen you can't die."

Arwen gave him another smile, reaching up and grasping his shirt with a bloodied hand. "You _have _to win..." Arwen gasped, her eyes squinting in fear.

"I will, I promise," Aragorn told her, tears beginning to stream down his face. How could she be dying? She had been completely fine, happy and cheerful this morning. She had been smiling just half an hour ago at his joke. She had been holding his hand just five minutes ago. Now, she was dying. It was strange how quickly life changed.

Arwen gave a weak cough, before she muttered, "_I love you_..."

Aragorn choked on his tears as the girl's eyes clouded over and her chest stopped heaving. He wasn't sure if he heard the cannon over his scream, but he knew that if had sounded off. He tried to compose himself; he was a Victor_, _a _Victor. _He wasn't some winkling who cried when his opponents died. He shouldn't cry with his enemies died... but Arwen was no enemy. Aragorn had gotten used to her presence, and now, it seemed impossible that she was gone.

Aragorn wiped the tears from his cheeks, before he bent down and pressed a small kiss to Arwen's bloodied lips. "I love you," he whispered back, before he gently closed her eyes and set her down on the ground. He looked back at her once. He gave her a soft smile. At least she was sleeping in a beautiful place.

He shook his head; he couldn't be distracted any longer. He had to kill that bastard from Five.

Legolas was more ticked off than he had been during the entire Games. How had those brats escaped him? He had killed their body-guard, that was for sure, but he hadn't expected them to be so quick footed and hard to follow. He had gotten the bow and arrow for a reason; to kill other Tributes. But now, it seemed as though they were doing that fine on their own.

Legolas hoped that it had been one of the brats. Perhaps they weren't looking and fell off a cliff. Or maybe they fell straight into the mouth of a bear. Maybe it was the boy from Two. That would be incredibly pleasing. Legolas was getting tired of knowing that the boy was still around.

He paused, listening as the wind rustled the leaves, trying to find a voice among the sounds of nature. Those two boys were certainly not the brightest, so Legolas assumed that they would be talking. All he needed was a little peep from them, and he'd be back on their trail. He was still irked with himself for losing them. He shouldn't have paused to talk to the dying boy from Twelve, but Legolas had to rub it in. Now, he was regretting it. Now that he had lost the two boys, Twelve had actually died for a reason.

A twig snapped in the near distance, and Legolas smiled. That was incredibly promising. He notched an arrow in his bow before he slithered off into the forest. Keeping his tread light, Legolas made sure that he was noiseless as he stalked his prey. It had to be a Tribute. Though Legolas had seen traces of deer, he had never actually found one, and he believed that they were far too wary to go near any of the Tributes.

Legolas pressed himself against the large trunk of a pine tree in an effort to conceal himself as he heard a low swear. He was close... so close to the Tribute. He peered around the corner of the tree, and saw that it wasn't the two boys, but instead, the girl from Ten. Legolas drew back his arrow, and aimed. Well, two Tributes would die today.

In that moment, the girl must have heard him, because her head snapped in his direction, and she whipped out a knife. After she saw that it was Legolas, she swore again, "Goddammit, how hard is it to find Meriadoc Brandybuck? You're not him... you're that boy from One... Come on now, lower your bow, I have a deal to make with you."

Legolas stepped from the trees warily. He never liked this girl; she had been too keen to kill somebody from her own District. Though Legolas had killed Sparkle, he was sure that this _Meriadoc _was not as annoying as she had been. Legolas was pretty sure there was nothing in the world that could have been as annoying as Sparkle. "What do you want? Speak quickly or I'll kill you."

"You're hunting the two brats, aren't you?" she said, titling her head to the side, "So am I. I want them dead. It's a miracle they've lasted this long. If it wasn't for the boy from Twelve, they would have been dead long ago. Killing him was your doing, right Blondie?"

Legolas nodded.

"Good on you," she told him, before she gave a small smile, "Here's my deal. We hunt the two brats together, and once they're dead, then we can have a go at each other. Sound fair?"

Legolas seriously doubted that she was going to let him live long enough to see the two boys dead, but if she was going to play him for a fool, Legolas was going to be the fool. It would provide him a great opportunity to kill the girl. If he tried now, she would fight back and run if the situation came to that. Legolas had a plan to prevent that from happening. E

Anyways, it would put on a wonderful show for the audience.

Pippin was absolutely miserable. Not only was Boromir dead, but it had been entirely his fault. If he had noticed the boy from One before, Boromir wouldn't have had to jump in front of him and take the arrow. Pippin should have been dead instead of Boromir, but here he was. He hated himself for letting something like that happen. Boromir could have made it to the end; there was no way that Pippin could win these Games. Boromir had died saving him, but Pippin couldn't even last the entire Game to make sure that Boromir died for a reason.

Pippin put his hands in his head as he watched Merry keeping watch. They had been lucky enough to find some thick underbrush that was large enough to hide the two small boys, but small enough to not make it an obvious hiding place. It was a very good hiding place for the two boys, seeing as the boy from One had passed by about an hour ago and had not noticed either of them.

"Merry," Pippin hissed softly, "I'm hungry."

"Check the bag, I'm sure we have _something,_" Merry whispered back, "Give me some of it, too."

Pippin nodded in response, before he began to root through the bag. He dug deep down, and found something that almost made him burst into tears. A terribly burnt fish, that must have fallen to the bottom of the pack and was forgotten. Boromir's horrible cooking. Pippin made a low choking sound, before he snapped the fish in half (it was that over cooked), and handed one end to Merry.

Merry looked at it for a second, his eyes glazing over, before he shoved it into his mouth in what seemed to be an effort to not cry.

"We can't stay here for long, Pip," Merry said softly, huddling closer to the thirteen-year-old boy, "I'm sure the boy from One will come looking for us around here soon. We'll stay the night, and then we'll go, okay?"

"Okay," Pippin replied, before he looked up through the leaves at the sky. He wondered who the cannon was, and wondered if he was going to be able to see the face through the leaves. Part of him didn't want to know who it was; he was tired of knowing that somebody else had died. He looked over at Merry, and was suddenly thankful that he was still alive. Pippin never wanted to see Merry's face in the sky. Seeing Boromir's had been bad enough.

Pippin gave a small sigh, before he curled up into the pack and attempted to get some sleep.

Estella sat, twiddling the knife in her hands. She was thankful that yet another Career had been killed. The girl from Two had never seemed to be much of a threat, but she still had been trained to kill from a young age. Estella smiled to herself as she thought that yet another Career would be having his face in the sky tomorrow.

She was surprised that he had been stupid enough to agree to her deal. Really? Like she needed help killing Merry and his stupid thirteen-year-old friend. It had been a good enough ruse for the pretty boy from One, and he had openly accepted her help. Now, she had him sleeping at her feet like a baby. She was just trying to figure out exactly how she was going to kill him.

Perhaps she'd cut off his hair first. It was scary how long it was, really, especially since he was a boy. She remembered that when she had first watched the Reapings, she had thought there had been a mistake and that One had Reaped two girls. He certainly looked like a girl, even from up close.

Not like it mattered; he was going to be dead in a minute's time. Estella twirled the knife through her hands before she gripped it tight. She smirked as she moved over to Legolas. She'd stab him in the throat, and _then _she'd cut his hair. It would be hard to fight her off when he was choking on his own blood.

Estella swung the knife down hard, and was surprised when her wrist was grabbed. He squeezed it hard, and Estella heard it crack before pain soared through it.

_Nononononono, it wasn't supposed to go like this! _Estella thought to herself as Legolas rolled her over onto the ground. In the dark, it looked like his green eyes were glowing with rage. Estella tried to struggle, but Legolas had her pinned. He was casually sitting on her too, holding back her hands with only one of his.

"Fuck you," Estella spat, her face pressing into the dirt.

"Oh, on the contrary," Legolas muttered back, "Did you really think I was _that _stupid? A deal like that wouldn't even have fooled a five-year-old. I'm surprised you've made it this far."

"I'll tell you, it wasn't easy," Estella shot back, "I've had to kill a lot of people to get this far."

"A lot of people? Who exactly did you kill?" Legolas asked her softly.

"Well, there was a girl named Diamond... and then there was you," Estella said, as she rolled over, ignoring the pain in her wrist as she managed to get Legolas off of her. She scrambled for her knife, finding it in the dark, and she brandished it. As Legolas grabbed one of his own. "I was hoping that this would be a lot easier, let me tell you."

"As was I," Legolas responded. Estella snarled at him, before she lashed out, knives clashing against each other. The metallic 'ting's echoed through the forest as they fought, up to each other's speed despite the fact that Estella's hand was pounding.

They danced around each other, the moonlight reflecting off of the silver blades. It seemed as though it was going to last forever or at least it felt like it was going to last forever, until a foot faltered. Stumbling backwards, it left a perfect striking opportunity, and, for the second time that day, blood soaked the ground of the forest.

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><p><strong>Thanks to alone on the water, ZeDancingHobbit, Ticklemeellmo, Elf from Downunder, Hi3939, Blonde blue eyes, and LARRISSA-HAYLIE IS MI, for reviewing! Thanks to cmorgan119, Isadorable Blueberries, Hawkeyed Magicienne, AragornTook97, l1s3g3r1ink, Blonde blue eyes, and LARISSA-HAYLIE IS MI for favouritingsubscribing.**

**Thanks for reading and please review!**

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><p><strong>I apologize for the long wait. I started school again, and though my semester isn't heavy at all, I am playing field hockey, which has practices games every night after school and my chemistry teacher loves to assign homework. I also started watching Supernatural, so that stole a lot of my productivity. Saying this, I always decide to write chapters when I'm ill, so I apologize for lack of quality in this chapter. Sorry I'm such a terrible author.**

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><p><strong>A list of the Fallen (In Chronological Order):<strong>

_All tributes from Districts who were not Lord of the Ring-itized (3, 7, 8, 9); Bloodbath; Day One_

_Frodo Baggins, District Four, Shelob (Mutt); Day Two_

_Rosie Cotton, District Eleven; Wargs (Mutts); Day Three_

_Sparkle Sprinkle, District One; Legolas (burned to death); Day Four_

_Ioreth Stellar, District Twelve; Infection from Warg cuts and Burns; Day Five_

_Diamond, District Six; Estella (pushed from cliff); Day Seven_

_Freya, District Five; Lobelia (spear through chest); Day Eight_

_Samwise Gamgee; District Eleven; Mutt/Gollum; Day Nine _

_Lobelia Sackville-Baggins; District Four; Legolas (broken arrows); Day Ten_

_Boromir Stewart; District Twelve; Legolas (three arrows to the chest); Day Eleven_

_Arwen Undomiel; District Two; Gimli (Axe-wound, Collapsed lung); Day Twelve_


	19. Blood In the Night

**_~One game to rule them all,_**

**_One game to find them,_**

**_One game to bring them all,_**

**_And may the odds be ever in your favour.~_**

Gimli was jolted awake, yet again, but the booming of the cannon. He didn't even bother to wonder who it was; he was going to find out by the time the sun set. If he lasted that long. Though fewer people meant that there were fewer tributes near him, he had still killed the girl from District Two, and Gimli was absolutely positive that her partner was going to go after him. He would have to be a lot more careful than he usually was, because if he wasn't, he was definitely going to die.

It was beginning to bother him about how his death was going to be viewed throughout Panem. Perhaps some capitol people would think of him as their favourite, and be rooting for him. All he could imagine was that their reactions to his death would be a mild disappointment, nothing more. He wondered how his father would feel about his death. Hopefully he would mourn for a little while. Maybe he would be proud of Gimli for lasting this long.

Gimli's stomach rumbled, and began to chew on his cheek as if he could keep himself from getting hungry by doing that. He had no food left, and he had no means to get food since he hadn't really paid enough attention at the plant collecting area of the training, and he couldn't seem to be able to hunt animals in the slightest.

Yet another squirrel scrambled into his view, stopping momentarily in a rather taunting sort of fashion, before it departed to a higher part in the tree. Gimli glared at it; why did animals have to be so cocky? If he could, he would be eating them. All of them.

But, despite the fact that Gimli was starving, there was still the more pressing manner of the boy from District Two going after him. The boy had seemed rather distant during the interviews, not attached to his partner at all, but so had Gimli. Freya had been nothing to him until he actually became her ally, and after twelve days in an arena with them, there was bound to be some sort of attachment. The girl, much like Freya, had been the only thing that he had left from home.

Gimli reassured himself with the fact that the boy had stopped to comfort his dying tribute partner. Gimli did not have that luxury, as the bitch from District Four had been after him and Freya at the same time. There was no way that Gimli could have ignored Freya's last request of _"RUN!"_

He grumbled to himself, rolling out of his sleeping spot and cleaning up his sleeping area. Since he was awake now, he might as well be going. The boy from District two seemed to be the type of hulking monster that could pull an all-nighter and still be able to outrun Gimli. Gimli wondered if the boy had been trained to be able to do so.

He held his axe in his hand; the heaviness of it reassuring him. It was surprising. He never thought that having a weapon in proximity would provide him with some comfort. But, he did suppose that he had been in an arena, where the whole purpose of him being there would be to fight to the death. Weapons had to bring him comfort here; there was really nothing else that could do so.

He tried to count who was left. The cannon that had woken it up made him drop his count by one. The only problem was, he didn't know which one. There was the girl from District One, the boy from Two, himself, the boy from Six, and the pair from Ten.

Gimli stared at his fingers, glaring at the last two that he put up. How was it that there was still a District couple left? Especially one from Ten. The larger the District number usually meant the higher the chance of being killed. To have only two Career Tributes left and four normal Tributes was a rather impressive feat.

Perhaps he had a chance. He didn't want to let hope get to his heads, but he still had a chance to get home. Never in his life did he think that he would be happy to be able to see District Five. The towering smoke stacks and the constant rumble in the streets would be so much better than his world in the arena where a single sound would mean his death.

The days of wishing he had been born somewhere else did not seem pointless to him, however. His young mind wishing that he had been born in the Capitol was not in vain. If he had been, he would not be in this situation. He would not have to count on his hands how many people he needed to have die for him to go back to his pathetic excuse for a home.

With his mind whirling, Gimli decided that he could no longer try to sleep, he got up, still clutching his axe in his hands. He might as well try to get something to eat rather than thinking of people dying and being starved. He wished that he had paid more attention to the instructor when he had been in the training institute.

He was wandering along the stream, attempting to get more fish into his soggy backpack, when a small silver parachute fell down from the artificial sky into the stream. Gimli blinked at it for a couple of minutes before he scrambled into the stream, not caring that he had gotten himself completely soaked, and grabbed the parachute.

He opened it up and saw that there was a package of crackers and a small fishing net inside. Gimli scoffed as he pulled up the net, and looked up to the sky, "Took you long enough," he muttered, before he opened up the thing of crackers and ate three of them. He took his backpack out of the water and hung it up on a tree, waiting for it to dry as he got himself a decent meal.

Aragorn was furious. He was going to kill that District Five peasant and he was going to piss on his body. His thoughts were slightly deluded as he had not slept the entire night in order to track the tribute that had killed Arwen. In retrospect, it was a stupid idea, but Aragorn had not experienced grief as such before, and he had no idea how to deal with it.

So, when he began to hear the whisperings he first thought that they were hallucinations. But the voices were much to high pitched and annoying to be of anything that can from his head. Despite his tiredness, he crouched low and quieted his breathing. These two could only be the remainder of the group that had lit the meadow on fire. It had to be the two boys that could hardly be older than fourteen.

Aragorn's blood began to boil as he thought about how they had survived longer than Arwen had. Arwen, who had trained for this moment all of her life and she had died before these two brats had. He let out a shuddering breath, his rage taking over. He clenched his fist so tight that the caps of his knuckles turned white.

"Pippin be quiet," one of them hissed, and Aragorn followed the voice to where their supposed location was. He began to walk towards the voice, listening as it continued, "Somebody just died, and they might be in this area."

Aragorn walked over to bush where they were hiding, and stood up, revealing himself, "You're right. Somebody might still be in the area."

The boys looked up at him in horror, their eyes widening as the moonlight caught on Aragorn's sword.

"Next time you scold your friend for being loud, keep your own voice down," Aragorn scolded them in an almost teacher-like voice. The boys scrambled to their feet made to run, but Aragorn caught one of them by the backpack and slammed them to the ground.

"Merry!" the boy struggled against Aragorn's hold, and the other boy, Merry, started at him with wide eyes. Merry moved towards the boy, his arms raised as if he was ready to tackle Aragorn. Aragorn smiled at him, and then threw the other boy against a tree before he lunged forwards.

His sword sliced cleanly through the boy's abdomen, and he cried out as he was pinned to the nearest tree. Aragorn looked at the wound, and then said, "That will take at least two hours for you to bleed to death. Enjoy them. They're going to be your last."

The other boy, who was gasping for breath and trying to scramble to his feet looked up to see his friend pinned and then cried out, "MERRY!"

"Run, Pippin!" he called out, his voice straining with pain. Blood was trickling down his lips, and Aragorn supposed that the boy probably had a lot less time than he had originally proposed.

Aragorn laughed as he walked over to the boy and yanked him to his feet by his throat. "You better watch, boy," he said to Merry, "You should have killed this boy a long time ago. This is how you do it."

He hoisted the struggling boy up higher and swung him down to the ground. Pippin cried out in pain, and Aragorn smirked as he heard the crack of the younger boy's ribs. Aragorn straddled him, and fisted the boy's hair in his hands. Lifting his head, Aragorn began to smash the boy's head against a nearby rock.

The boy's cries grew into feeble moans, and eventually they faded entirely. But Aragorn did not stop until the cannon sounded for the second time that night. His hands were bloodied as he looked up from the boy's prone body, and then he pulled his sword from Merry's chest.

Merry slumped to the ground, and Aragorn put his foot on the curly hair of the boy. "You shouldn't have lasted this long." He stomped on his head, and the boy cried out weakly. "You shouldn't have lasted this long." He said, stomping again. "You shouldn't have lasted this long. You shouldn't have lasted this long. YOU SHOULDN'T HAVE LASTED THIS LONG."

With one final stomp, the cannon sounded off, and Aragorn laughed. Those two pathetic excuses of tributes were finally dead. They were supposed to be dead on the first day, but they had lasted almost a day longer than Arwen had.

Well. They weren't around anymore. Aragorn glanced back at the bodies, and began to walk away, not caring that the blood on his shoes had left a trail behind him. Let that prissy boy from one come and find him. He wouldn't let him live through it if he did.

"You reminded me of Lobelia," Legolas said, looking down at the prone corpse of the girl. "That's not a good thing, mind you. She was bat-shit crazy, and she betrayed me so reminding me of her isn't really a compliment. "

Estella simply blankly looked up at him, tears in her eyes and blood still trickling from the open wound on her neck. She had put up a good fight, Legolas admitted, and she had managed to injure him a little. But it didn't matter how well she had fought; she was still dead and he was still alive.

He never would have been able to forgive himself if a person from a high number District killed him. It would have been embarrassing, even if he wouldn't be around to experience it. His district would refer to his Games as a shameful Game, and he wouldn't even be remembered. His father would have yet another reason to stay inside and drink his life away. His remaining siblings would have to disown him.

Legolas realized that this was the first time he had thought about his father since he had volunteered. He couldn't afford to think about his family when he was worried about whether he could live through the next day.

He sat down next to Estella's corpse and then sighed. She looked almost like Emerald. Legolas shook his head; he never wanted to think about Emerald being dead, and now it was like he was staring right at her.

He got up immediately and nearly ran away from the body. He there was nothing important on her body; he already had food and a lot of weapons. He didn't need to spend anymore time in the area. There were tributes nearby, Estella had mentioned that much and Legolas was looking for those two brats that had managed to make it this long by riding out on the boy from Twelve's strength.

Legolas had readied an arrow and crouched low, ready to find another tribute to kill. Judging by how quiet the Game Makers were being, there had to be more tributes in the area. Otherwise, there would be a specifically plotted natural disaster in an attempt to bring the remaining tributes together.

Legolas was not expecting the cannon to go off so quickly after he had killed Estella, and he nearly let lose his arrow in shock. Once he calmed himself, he glanced around to see if the tributes were still there before yet another cannon went off.

_So the brats had been killed_, Legolas thought. That was the only logical explanation. Unless the red headed menace from Five and the boy from Two killed each other, but that was highly unlikely. Legolas smiled to himself. There were two less tributes now, and one of his major threats in the area. He could end this easily.

He began to make his way through the woods, looking for any sign of a tribute, or even better, a hovercraft to alert him of the location of the bodies. In the dark of the night, Legolas found it hard to make out the machine, but as he strained his eyes, he was still able to see it.

He followed silently through the underbrush, being careful to not snap any twigs or rustle any leaves louder than the wind would. He found an area stained with blood and figured that this was where the tributes had been slain.

He walked around the area, looking for any sign of what direction their killer could have gone. He was just about to give up when the moonlight caught on something gleaming on the leaves of a nearby bush. He walked over to it and smiled to himself.

How perfect. The killer had been kind enough to leave him a blood trail. 

_Death of Tributes in Order of Disappearance:_

_All tributes from Districts who were not Lord of the Ring-itized (3, 7, 8, 9); Bloodbath; Day One_

_Frodo Baggins, District Four, Shelob (Mutt); Day Two_

_Rosie Cotton, District Eleven; Wargs (Mutts); Day Three_

_Sparkle Sprinkle, District One; Legolas (burned to death); Day Four_

_Ioreth Stellar, District Twelve; Infection from Warg cuts and Burns; Day Five_

_Diamond, District Six; Estella (pushed from cliff); Day Seven_

_Freya, District Five; Lobelia (spear through chest); Day Eight_

_Samwise Gamgee; District Eleven; Mutt/Gollum; Day Nine _

_Lobelia Sackville-Baggins; District Four; Legolas (broken arrows); Day Ten_

_Boromir Stewart; District Twelve; Legolas (three arrows to the chest); Day Eleven_

_Arwen: District Two; Gimli. (axe to the chest ) Day Twelve._

_Estella Bolger: District Ten; Legolas (knife to the throat); Night Twelve_

**_Sorry for the very late update. I have been very very ill for the last year and a bit and I still have not recovered. Please be patient. Thank you for reading, and please review. _**


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